


Mercy

by sidechick



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artificial Insemination, Badass Rey, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Emperor Kylo Ren, Empress Rey, F/F, F/M, Fake Marriage, Hux has an arc but is not woobified, Jedi Rey, Just Jakku Things, Light!Rey, Marriage, Misunderstandings, Moral Dilemmas, POV Outsider, Politics, Pregnancy, Renperor, Rescue Missions, Rey Stays, Romance, Slow Burn, Slurs, Wedding Rituals, With A Twist, again - with a twist, but not pregnancy-centric, catastrophe aftermath, lady ren, sexual harassment in work place mentioned, spitting, stormtroopers love her
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-03-08 18:30:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 44,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13464045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidechick/pseuds/sidechick
Summary: Since Supreme Leader announced his marriage four years ago, Lady Ren gracedSupremacywith personal visits exactly four times – for the annual Day of Order celebrations, when a parade was received in the docking bay and speeches were made. Each time, formation pushed Hora’s unit to the walls of the cavernous space. They could only barely discern Lady Ren’s dove-grey robes, her statuesque frame so petite against Supreme Leader’s black form. She stood out in the sea of red and black and white of guards, officers, soldiers. And it wasn’t just the clothes; it was the energy Lady Ren emanated. Even from afar, it felt as if she was glowing. As if her small body reverberated with the force contained inside.***Rey stays with Kylo Ren and Ben Solo, but she also stays true to herself.





	1. Try

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys! Thanks for reading :) Consider leaving a kind word if you are so inclined.
> 
> Min Gylif - "My Life" in Old Corellian
> 
> Btw, if you're into **modern day Reylo AUs** , check out my spin on it here: [**petals on my tongue**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15539835/chapters/36074379)

Hora has never set foot aboard a _Resurgent_ -class Star Destroyer before. 

No difference trembled beneath her boots; the deck felt as secure and solid as the one she knew so well on _Supremacy_. The vibrations and hums running through the metal were reassuring heartbeats of the ship’s systems, and not unstable tremors. But something wasn’t the same. In the air, and in the faces of people running by. They lacked a certain tension that came from being overwhelmed with seeing features of others, from trying to discern who was who now that the helms came off. 

Senior officer assigned to sorting the transfers consulted her holopad file once and started addressing Hora by the Reintroduced name – immediately. She didn’t look at Hora’s breast first, where a plate would have borne the designation number a cycle ago. 

Supervisors on _Supremacy_ still did.

While ascending decks, most of the arrived group chipped off by ones and twos according to instruction: sanitation, engineering, medical. Hora hasn’t been chosen for any task so far. She followed Lieutenant Dalon’s neat braid shoulder to shoulder with the last remaining fellow re-assignee, and tried to suppress any anxieties. Previously, she only ever held one assignment: a Yeoman to recently demoted Corporal Donta. Her skill set was accordingly limited. Hora really hoped she would be able to handle whatever new position befell her. People waited months, years even for their requests to serve on _Mercy_ to get reviewed. She wasn’t letting this rare, spontaneous bout of luck to slip through her fingers.

 _Mercy_ stretched all around, a weird contrast: it held the best of anything and everything First Order had to offer, the latest advancements and newest tech (the ship received core upgrades from Kuat-Entralla Engineering ahead all other Fleet vessels, including _Supremacy_ ), but, also… there was a lot of weird salvage. Old-as-dirt consoles amidst state-of-the-art converting bay. Mismatched droids. What looked like some dirtball spaceport cantina transported directly into the middle of a sleek and clean, if busy, mess hall. At one point, Lieutenant indicated a “botanical solarium” ahead and to the right, and Hora stared at the smudge of green until they turned in another direction. Some distant, heady smell almost reached her, but it might have been just overactive imagination.

The crew also appeared much less uniform. Sentients of many species buzzed past; some, Hora was pretty sure, native to Republican planets. There were obvious civilians. There were – uniform-clad, following caretakers in tittering rows – _children_.

She had not seen children – that weren’t running away in horror – in so long.

“Alright,” Lieutenant Dalon concluded, when a fork between senior personnel living quarters and an office block came into view. She pointed at Hora’s comrade: “You. You are going to be helping navigation; take a turbolift down three decks. Remember this route; it’s the quickest. And you, let’s go.”

Unease crept up Hora’s throat. Things were supposed to be different now; the updated policies dictated any soldier immediately contact their senior in the event of misconduct. But, for Hora, being alone with an officer still activated a shrill alarm in the back of the mind.

Lieutenant led her deeper into the labyrinth of identical-looking doors and stopped at a seemingly unremarkable one. Compassion and annoyance battled on her wrinkled face, making it appear exasperated. “Listen, kid,” she said. “I’m just going to go and say it, so we can get the freak out over with. You are to serve as yeoman to Lady Ren.”

Hora stared, beyond comprehension.

Since Supreme Leader announced his marriage four years ago, Lady Ren graced _Supremacy_ with personal visits exactly four times – for the annual Day of Order celebrations, when a parade was received in the docking bay and speeches were made. Each time, formation pushed Hora’s unit to the walls of the cavernous space. They could only barely discern Lady Ren’s dove-grey robes, her statuesque frame so petite against Supreme Leader’s black form. She stood out in the sea of red and black and white of guards, officers, soldiers. And it wasn’t just the clothes; it was the energy Lady Ren emanated. Even from afar, it felt as if she was glowing. As if her small body reverberated with the force contained inside.

Of course, Hora was very familiar with Lady Ren’s face from up-close, thanks to the news reports and educational holos all military personnel watched regularly after the evening meal. But that filtered image had nothing on seeing, no matter the distance, the woman in person – every soldier’s, every worker’s dearly adored Min Gylif, the kind, the merciful.

“Yeah, that’s the only warning I’ll give: don’t you go around calling strangers things like that,” Lieutenant sighed, and Hora belatedly realized some of her reverence leaked out verbally. “I mean, we all know that’s what you call her in the barracks; Hitrys’s bureau encourages it, I think.” To hear the General addressed with such distaste and no rank attached seemed wrong, an anathema. “But imagine if random people started calling you “darling” and “sweetheart” all the time. She gets weird when one of yours does that. So – don’t.” Hora managed a nod. “Good. You’ll be fine. She’s a dream to work with, otherwise. Even though, I imagine, an adjustment for you.”

And then Hora was getting shoved straight into the middle of a military council.

“-everything. Every source. No results. It’s like he personally strolled around in there, wiping memories,” one of the officers at a round table was saying. Said table took up most of the center space in the room, with smaller desks shoved up against walls. Holograms crowded above each one, painting the congregation in hues of blue and green: pale, almost glowing in the dim light faces above uniform collars. Air buzzed as it usually did over crowds, with human emotion, layered breaths, and twitches. The tension seemed almost palpable.

“And analytics?” Rang a strong female voice. Hora’s gaze went towards it, and there was Lady Ren. Her signature austere greys set as clean and sharp across her shoulders as any uniform, high neckline and long sleeves imitating its military cut rather than light gowns Hora had seen on officials’ wives during receptions. Lady Ren’s smooth face looked serious; the expression, and the way her hair was sleeked back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, added years to the woman’s young age. 

A dark-skinned officer shook her head in obvious regret without looking up from flipping through holos. “I’m sorry, my lady. They were preparing for this. For a long time. All Fleet activity as far as two months back is completely shuffled. I could guess towards four separate coordinate points, weeks apart.”

Lady Ren clapped the analytic’s shoulder – a gesture of camaraderie – and pressed several buttons on a nearby control panel. “Bridge, any updates?” She asked, attention lingering on a stretch of star chart – some Mid Rim sector.

“They keep on ignoring our hails, my lady,” the dynamic soon answered in a mechanized voice, louder than the resulting outraged murmur.

“Keep trying, regardless.”

“Understood.”

Silence fell, underlined by an array of quiet whirs and beeping. Officers exchanged heavy glances. Many were braced on the table’s edge, hunched, defeated. Lady Ren stood taller, her hands balling into fists by her hips. She looked over the circle and made sure to make eye contact with every last one of her people.

“Keep trying, regardless,” she repeated.

More than one set of jaws clenched resolutely. Spines straightened; heads nodded. Breathing in new hope, those present rolled their sleeves up and went back to work. Hora’s heart felt too big and heavy for her chest. In that moment, she ached to belong here; to be one of the inspired ones.

Lieutenant Dalon used the conversational lull to push forward, past a cluster of cartographers and calculators towards Lady Ren’s chair. The woman was sitting down now, head propped with fingers massaging her temples. It looked like she was in deep concentration.

With no regard to the fact, Lieutenant barked: “My lady, your new yeoman has arrived!” And gave a brisk salute. Lady Ren didn’t jump or flinch; she seemed to not mind in the slightest. “The name’s Hora. A reassignment from _Supremacy_. She used to serve under Corporal Donta.” The last sentence had an emphasis attached.

Lady Ren’s eyes flew up immediately. They were brown-green. Hora wondered if her mother would have looked at her like that, with genuine concern and some deep recognition. A dry warmth bloomed across her forearm – Lady Ren clasped it atop the fatigues, a mirror of what Hora witnessed earlier, and the comforting touch lingered.

“He will never lay a hand on you again, my friend,” Lady Ren said. “The system failed you before; still, this much I can promise. Our investigative program has proven successful since it had been implemented two years ago. Donta is _not_ coming back.”

Hora’s face burned. “Thank you, my lady,” she managed to exhale. Pain pulsed up her back from the vigor with which she kept holding the salute.

Lady Ren gasped. “Oh! At ease, my friend! I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, my lady.”

“It’s been years. Still can’t keep in mind I’m the,” her mouth quirked, bitter, “ _Supreme Leader_ around here.” 

“Anyway,” Lieutenant interrupted unceremoniously. The casualness of the interaction, the lack of fear was… astonishing. “She seems smart enough to figure everything out, so you two have fun. Don’t be too hard on her!”

“Never. Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

“See? You’re getting the hang of it.”

Hora was momentarily torn between turning to thank the officer and wish her farewell, and honoring Lady Ren. Predictably, the latter won. Yearning to assist in what appeared to be a high-pressure situation, she asked: “How can I be of help, my lady?”

Lady Ren gave a toothy and slightly tired smile at that, reclining deeper in the chair. “You don’t happen to know where the _Supremacy_ is headed, do you?” She chuckled at the perceived ridiculousness of such request and patted Hora’s hand again. “I’m joking, of course.”

Great relief washed over Hora. In the past three month, idly stalking around the station in waiting for a new position, her thoughts came back to the why several times. Why has fate – or stars, or gods, or simple coincidence – uprooted her. Why was she lucky enough to end up here, on _Mercy_. It was now clear: everything happened for a reason. She could be of use, could prove herself. Could belong.

“I actually do happen to know,” she reported dutifully.

“What?!” Lady Ren sat straight, intent, with mouth slightly open in shock. Her eyes were searching Hora’s face. “How?! You have been on the station for three month!”

“They forgot to adjust my intranet access, so the account still receives missives a yeoman of any Level 3 officer would get. I had no chance to submit a formal complaint yet.”

“You are serious.”

“Yes, my lady.” There was no room for thought, no pause or hesitation. Only absolute trust and… weird rightness? “ _Supremacy_ is moving on Kaliassi system. _Finalizer_ , _Dominion_ , and _Heresiarch_ are among the escort.”

“I need a holopad over here!” Lady Ren snapped. An inconspicuous man behind the chair moved into the circle of artificial light. His downcast eyes never left the floor, head bowed, but the pale features and bright hair were once too widely advertised to stay unrecognizable. Hora presently shared a deck with disgraced former general of the First Order, Armitage Hux. Who submitted his own holopad for her to use without a word. His uniform had to signifiers on it; not anymore. 

This day went off orbit really quick.

“Thank you, Armitage,” Lady Ren said, before turning away. “Show me.”

While Hora struggled with her login, the analytic from earlier confirmed Kaliassi as one of the predictions made. Lady Ren’s gaze burned in its intensity as she chewed on her thumb, lost in thought, with passive ex-general a quiet shadow beside her. Then, suddenly, the holopad was being snatched back from Hora’s fingers.

“No time. I can see you either believe you’re telling the truth, or you simply are. Bridge.”

“My lady.”

The attention of the busy crowd was brought back to the dynamic in an instant.

“Set a course for Kaliassi Prime.” The room burst into activity at once, everyone talking at the same time and over each other. “Report once ETA has been calculated. I’m coming down immediately.”

“My lady, this is Ignessa speaking. No need to wait; we’re very close to the sector. A twenty five minute jump will do it.”

“Brilliant. Jump when ready. And, bridge. We’re invoking the Solo Maneuver.” 

“…sure. Why not. We’re all crazy here, anyway.”

“Desperate times.” Lady Ren was on her feet in one fluid motion, and half way to the door in a blink. Armitage Hux and two praetorian guards in scarlet armor peeled off from the background to follow. So did Hora – on pure instinct. Lady Ren glanced at them all over her shoulder and… winked. “Let’s see those lines.”

***

Kaliassi wasn’t a heavily colonized system. Habitable status belonged to a modest total of eight moons and three planets, with the fourth still in terraforming. Natives had built their economy on duracrete production, according to the briefing document. Kaliassi Prime, a hulking water giant, certainly didn’t reflect such statement. It looked like a pleasure planet, its oceans azure instead of cold steely blue, with a signature tropical green tint to them. A fluffy white cyclone spun in the southern hemisphere, but the capital megalopolis fully evaded the reassuring shelter of raging weather – surely, a much more preferable evil compared to the _Mega_ -class Star Dreadnought in the clear sky.

Even after a command to brace for impact, Hora still received quite a shake. Praetorian guards stayed on their feet, but swayed like seaweed; ex-general Hux went flying across the floor.

Only Lady Ren was unfazed and kept going, the pull of gravity clearly irrelevant to her existence. “Ignessa! Scans! All the scans!”

“Don’t thank the crew for executing your crazy ideas and keeping everyone alive through them or anything,” General Madava drawled, vacating the command chair. The helm team had to re-enter realspace very close to the planet – an extremely dangerous, highly impressive feat.

“Ah, stop it. They know they’re amazing.”

“My lady, the fleet sits directly above us, still in the black. Planetary shield is down, but no damage yet. _Finalizer_ and _Dominion _are charging their weapons, though,” reported one of the communications officers from her station – a hive of their cubicles was split in two by the elevated command walkway.__

Lady Ren finished crossing the glossy expense and froze in front of the transparisteel viewport – a harsh silhouette against seemingly endless dormant ocean. “Shields up. Keep descending. Take position directly above the capital and send invitation for peaceful negotiations to their governing body. Provide cautious reassurances.” She spun on her heel. “And get me a kriffing channel with _Supremacy_ , for Kwath’s sake!” 

The quietness of the bridge vastly differed from the command center. Hora could hear tiny maintenance droids whirring somewhere among people’s boots. Senior communications officer, unending strings of security code running through her screen, inquired politely to present audience as well as those willing to listen high above: “Come in, _Supremacy_. This is First Order bearing vessel _Mercy_ , scarlet status. Come in, _Supremacy_.” 

The formulaic message sounded innocent enough: ship assigned to a member of the ruling family. Said member currently on board. But barging in between the bulk of First Order fleet and their target turned the words into a warning; a thinly veiled threat, even. Tense shoulders and furrowed brows demonstrated sharp awareness of the crew. They were ready to receive friendly fire for their shared goal. For Lady Ren. 

Inspiring. And traitorous. The politics behind such situation, the implications… everything seemed too frightening to inspect closely. Hora’s mind turned away from the uncomfortable towards familiar. She would just focus on performing her duties with efficiency. 

“ _Mercy_ ,” was the long-awaited terse answer. It became apparent that _Supremacy_ would have continued to ignore all hails, had _Mercy_ not popped up on their scanners in the flesh. “This is _Supremacy_. Confirm scarlet status.” 

“Confirming scarlet status.” 

A _feeling_ of relived collective sigh rolled over the bridge, but quiet held. Lady Ren, ensconced by her escort, briskly took the command chair and braced herself, head held proudly high and back rigid. 

“Opening holo channel.” The audio connection cut. 

Supreme Leader’s scarred face materialized above the walkway with no further warning. It was hard not to cower. The projection was composited of subtly glowing blue and white. As always, the man’s pallor provided a stark contrast against his hair, uniform, and, most disconcerting, eyes. Dark, all-seeing, they locked with Lady Ren’s immediately. 

“My lord,” she greeted. Her tone was assured, voice loud – very unlike his unnervingly soft manner. 

“My lady.” Both didn’t blink, taking each other in for several long moments. “It has been quite some time since I saw your face last, min gylif.” 

Hora has never heard the nickname used by its originator, first person. An abyss separated underlining sentiments of these two simple words: when tossed by soldiers, it rang like a mystical name for a sacred entity, full of adoration, but detached and clinical; from Supreme Leader’s generous lips it tore like a piece of alive flesh, and some escaped meaning bled through after the ripped piece to flood any space between the couple with things unsaid. 

“That’s why I tried to hail you before embarking on my month-long diplomatic mission with Kaliassi,” Lady Ren declared – lied, – all nonchalant. She was being loud and clear on purpose, so that both bridges could hear. “It hurt when you didn’t answer. I see now that I was a fool to anger so quickly. How nice of my lord, to surprise me with a personal sendoff. I know your time is valuable.” 

She smiled with the very corner of her mouth. He twisted his, almost in response, before the line smoothed over, neutral again. “Not so valuable that I can’t spare an hour for a face-to-face visit.” 

“Bring it!” Lady Ren burst unexpectedly. She quickly gathered her bearings, breaking eye contact, at last, and took a deep breath. “I will meet my lord in the docking bay.” 

The hologram disappeared after a second of mutual acidic scrutiny. 

“Quick,” Lady Ren commanded as she rose to her feet. “What is Kaliassi’s reaction?” 

Report came from General Madava, who had one headphone pressed against her ear, robbing a poor communications officer: “They're scared shitless, understandably; ready to do anything to pull through. Full cooperation is on the table.” 

“Good. Tell them to lay low for an hour. Armitage, how’s that knee you landed on? We should run to the docking bay. _Upsilon_ s are quick kriffers.” 

***

Supreme Leader brought along minimal entourage: a pair of blood-red guards to match Lady Ren’s, and several shadow-like death troopers. In the echoing emptiness of hastily cleared docking bay he stood very tall (a head over Lady Ren, head and a half over Hora, easy), no less menacing in person than in holos. As his wife came to greet the procession and take his elbow, the man stayed passive, not struggling but not helping the ministrations either. 

“How’s your dog doing?” He asked instead with no intonation, chin down to better see her. 

She kept looking ahead firmly. “He’s a person. Ask him.” 

“What about the vow of silence.” 

“There’s an hour of respite.” 

A scoff constituted her only answer. Ex-general Hux showed no indication of having overheard the pair’s discussion. 

They ended up in the control tower, where personnel jumped to their feet in shocked salute and froze that way. “Vacate the premises immediately,” Supreme Leader ordered. Behind him, Lady Ren made a covert gesture to obey. As most officers scrambled, hasty to comply, some seemed reluctant to leave their posts. Such hesitance provoked an outburst, so much more impactful after all the strange softness: “Leave!” 

They ran. 

For years Hora had served on the ship where, once, Lord Ren’s temper tantrums were legendary. Tales stopped travelling barracks since his ascension, but whispers always lingered. Not fifteen minutes ago, when she stood mesmerized by Supreme Leader’s command shuttle touching down, Lady Ren had exhaled an instruction against her ear. “You’re _my_ direct subordinate, Hora. Mine, not Supreme Leader’s. Disregard his word. You only answer to me.” So now Hora flinched, but stood her ground. She was no stranger to angry men, who all had so much in common it at times felt like one destructive force inhabiting an assortment of puppets. She remained behind while everyone did the opposite, including ex-general, who oozed an energy of a kicked animal, and guards, who lingered outside the door. 

“I said, leave!” Supreme Leader shouted directly at her, raising his gloved hand. Something alien, tendrils both burning and space-cold, washed against Hora’s neck. It penetrated her very flesh, crawled inside to coil around the windpipe. An impossible fit – and yet… Before the terror had a chance to set in, though, the feeling washed away just as quickly. 

“Shush,” Lady Ren said, almost tired, with a hand likewise now in the air. “You know the rules. This is my new yeoman. Her name is Hora.” 

The man faced the wall. His fists opened and gathered back up rhythmically in a terrifying tic – barely audible squeaks of leather only added to the effect. Lady Ren reassured Hora by making a complicated sympathetic face, immediately slapping on her stoic mask after. Then, Supreme Leader’s heavy gaze returned, accompanied by a locked jaw. 

“Thank you,” he almost growled through his teeth, “for your service.” Hora dared not answer or move a muscle, and he heavily carried his imposing frame away to observe rows of stagnant TIE-fighters beneath. “Rey.” He asked the glass. “Why.” 

Lady Ren softened in a weird, almost unnoticeable way. Maybe it was the angling of her proudly held head, or a sad distortion to the eyebrows. “Engage in diplomatic talks with Kaliassi by my side, Ben.” Ben?.. 

“There is no way.” 

“There is a way. Just try. If you do…” She inhaled loudly through her nose. “We can talk about your medical team coming on board.” The words sounded like a resolution. 

Supreme Leader froze. An uncomfortable minute stretched until he finally picked up the soft tone again: “I thought you would keep that particular bargaining chip for something more… relevant.” 

“Every world is relevant. Every life. One is not more important than others. All equally matter.” 

“Spare me the Jedi bantha fodder,” he hissed, then switched tactics after a quick squint at his wife. “You know I can’t promise anything. Hitrys needs this system.” 

“Hitrys doesn’t _need_ anything,” Lady Ren hissed back in identical manner. “She _wants_ it. And I can’t help but wonder: why is it that the General gets her way far more often than me, _your wife_?” 

Darkly amused now, maybe even pleased, Supreme Leader made a show of considering the complaint. “How about this: you get a contract out of them, and I don’t blast the system to pieces.” 

“Get it yourself!” 

“I can’t just disappear on some wet smear of a world for a month, _min gylif_.” 

Bent at the waste towards the woman as if ready for battle, with poison dripping off every syllable, Supreme Leader unknowingly opened Hora’s eyes to the true form of Lady Ren’s diminutive moniker. This was its reality: a sarcastic inversion of affection, made all the more scathing by a bit of sincerity contained inside. A metaphor for their whole relationship, which General Hitrys’s bureau picked up and glamorized for the masses. 

Hora’s fear untethered her. Only Lady Ren’s character proving true and even surpassing the public image kept things anchored. 

The woman herself became unaffected the second her husband snapped. “Your presence won’t be required every day, I guess,” she allowed somewhat petulantly – a calculated show of childishness as a gesture of sincerity. 

Supreme Leader advanced, and Hora couldn’t watch. She seized, throat tightening on its own this time, as she stared at Lady Ren in panic. But the woman’s face showed no discomfort, just tilted up to accommodate the diminishing distance between spouses. Hugging the air around her with his hunched form, Supreme Leader whispered: “I’ll do it. I’ll try.” 

She nodded once. “That’s all I’m asking.” 

“Now, min gylif,” her elbow drowned in the large black-clad palm, “escort me back to the shuttle. And make sure I get a kiss this time. For prying eyes.” 

***

He got his kiss. What started as demonstration of power – with him unbending, unrelenting, punishing her for wrestling him into agreement earlier, making her rise on her toes and cling to his shoulders and stretch – ended also as such, but with scales capsized in opposite direction. Both of Lady Ren’s modest heels were firmly on the deck by the time her husband recoiled from his almost-bow over her. Her wrist, intercepted on its way into his hair and circled with his fingers like a cuff, was pushed away, thrown as if her very skin was poisonous. Eyes burning into hers, he named her his life one last time in parting; and she him – her lord, in return. Both sounded hoarse. 

***

The turbolift suddenly slowed, and the doors slid softly open to reveal a gaggle of tiny girls. It was hard to believe many sentient beings started out as such fragile creatures. If stormtrooper program stayed running, their age group would have been learning to disassemble and reassemble blaster rifles and pistols. As is, various appendages clutched educational holocubes, and each young scholar wore dove grey of Lady Ren’s hue: a symbol of her patronage. 

Caretakers, themselves not-that-large amphibian species (who appeared to be… nuns?), shooed their round-eyed flock inside the small cabin. Girls surrounded Lady Ren, mouths agape and motley array of faces upturned to her like mirrorflowers towards the sun. Coming down from fresh adrenaline high, Hora found the scene amazing and almost giggled. Almost. 

Today, she learned a lot about silences. This one was also tense, could easily compete with the previous two in that department, but bubbled with unintentional hilarity. Hora got a sense of unease from Lady Ren more clearly now, under siege of children, compared to before, when Supreme Leader hung over her, seething. Ex-general Hux, still present even after the rest of the entourage had been dismissed, added to the comedic atmosphere by trying his best to become one with the light panels. 

“Well!” Lady Ren declared, booming, seeking guidance from the nuns with wavering glances and to no avail. “Quite a shake we got today, isn’t it right?” The girls made a collective loud noise which Hora chose to interpret as agreement. “Did everyone manage to stay put and hold on tight?” Same reaction. “Wonderful! You are very brave. Thank you so much.” 

Children shuffled closer, and the bravest ones reached out to clutch at Lady Ren’s skirts. The woman quite literally melted, awkwardness all but gone. She reached back, patting heads and smoothing cheeks, then squatted in the midst of small bodies. 

“You know,” she started, “when I was your age, I had to work salvaging scrap day and night just to have something to eat in the evenings.” A little gasp. “And I would have given anything to be able to learn how to read and write. I realize all of you had it just as tough, if not worse.” Her eyes shone with wetness held back. “There was no one there for me. But! For you, I am here. As long as I can be, I will. Don’t worry about a thing. Just promise you’ll try your best in your studies.” 

They promised. 

Continuing the trend of completely obliterating Hora’s reality, Lady Ren opened her palm with a flare. The beaconing was soon answered by small objects _flying through the air_ to dance, afloat, above it: a frequency chip, mess hall tokens, an electrical fork for a BB-unit, petty coins, communicator cover. They drew lazy circles. Hora, now one with the young crowd, openly gawked. Lady Ren was doing this, controlling this. But how?! 

Children had way less questions and just laughed, chirped, and roared in pure unbothered delight, accompanied by their entertainer’s chuckling. The fun only stopped with turbolift’s arrival to the needed floor. Gravity-defying show disappeared from view. Gravity-defying… was that, whatever it was, how Lady Ren stayed walking during the switch between hyper- and realspace? 

Goodbyes were enthusiastically waved and shouted, and caretakers chimed in to shower Lady Ren with chastisements in unfamiliar language. “They belong to an ancient order,” she explained. In her fingers she twirled the communicator cover, now completely ordinary and static. An amused huff. “They have never really liked me.” 

From the corner of her eye, Hora noticed that Hux was now watching Lady Ren closely, having raised his eyes for the first time since they met in person. His expression was that of a hungered, broken man. 

The turbolift moved on. A piece of plastic hit its floor. Previously suppressed wetness flooded Lady Ren’s eyes in earnest. Not sure of the protocol for such occasion, Hora made to move closer. “I risk their lives every single moment they are on _Mercy_ ,” Lady Ren shared in hushed whisper. “We could have all died today. Have we showed up ten minutes later. Have the maneuver been unsuccessful. Have Ben-” She shook her head, squeezing the eyes hard; one tear escaped to run down a freckled cheek. “But they have nowhere to go, for now. Nowhere to turn to. And I… I have to keep trying. It’s the right thing to do.” 

Recalling something she experienced for the first time that day, Hora went on a whim and squeezed her lady’s forearm. The woman gave a watery smile of gratitude. “We have to compose an actual schedule for this Kaliassi disaster, my friend,” she said. “But first, I need to meditate, and you – to eat lunch.” Before a protest formed, she shushed it: “I don’t want to hear it. Armitage’s hour of respite just started, I believe?” 

Hux cleared his throat. “Yes, my lady.” 

“He’ll show you the ropes. Though they’re not dissimilar, I think. And in half an hour I expect you both to return to the command center.” 

Thus, Lady Ren kept on, and Hora disembarked on a new, questionable adventure alongside Armitage Hux. It was promptly decided the man made a far better impression while silent. 

“Hora,” he sneered, weighting her name on the tongue and finding it distasteful. His intensity came across very different from Supreme Leader’s, – cold and sharp. “How very original. Don’t tell me. Was your designation HR-1501?” 

It was rude and tactless to bring the numbers up, to ask about them so bluntly and speculate. It hurt, and ignited a weird, unfocused sort of helpless anger. It… 

It was. 

“With this position, your access has been elevated to Level 12. Do you know what that means?” Every word got meticulously pronounced to deliver maximum impact. “Disclosing any information, like, say, in a manner you did in the command center? Regarding _Mercy_ ’s movements to anyone, including Supreme Leader? Yes. Would be high treason. Punishable by immediate death.” Implications fell heavy between them, and Hora abruptly remembered the comparison made between ex-general and a dog. 

Hux started off and didn’t look back, only snarled: “Come!” 

She went. 


	2. The Reality Of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A longer one this time around, because a lot needed to be said and shown. Kylo Ben is barely in it, but his presence is felt far and wide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers!
> 
> Thank you so much for your time, as well as your support and warm words.
> 
>  **Few things:** I've already said it in some comment responses, but let me repeat myself now for all to see. I have a pre-planned direction for this story. Not everyone might like it, and that's okay. I write for my own fun and to practice my English, so if you'll choose to nope out - I respect your decision, and only ask you keep the first chapter of Mercy in your heart as a one-shot :D 
> 
> Also, looks like POV!Outsider is here to stay for the sake of intrigue.
> 
>  
> 
> **Please, mind the tags. I add to them.**

There were several droids in varying states of ongoing repair wandering around Lady Ren’s suite at any given time, but there wasn’t an assigned domestic unit. Hux tended to the space by hand. Hora had yet to puzzle out his place on board of _Mercy_ : the man was something of a monk, between a prisoner and a servant, with severe restrictions placed on his person. He upheld a stern schedule, wore simple clothes, and ate simpler food; kept true to his vow of silence, and who knew what else. So it wasn’t the sight of ex-general, sleeves rolled up and rag in hands, kneeling to scrub the floor that threw Hora off.

“Are you scheduled?” She asked the full room, a bit dumbfounded, and promptly broke in cold sweat. Her holopad held nothing for the morning, but all these people were here, _inside_ , which meant they had today’s access codes. Was it sanctioned? Surely, it couldn’t be sanctioned. Had she forgotten? That never happened before. Working under Donta quickly stripped away such luxury as room to err – and, safe away from the bastard and with time and literal space to separate them, she was even kind of grateful for the harsh training. Not to him, of course, he could rot in prison forever, but to life. The gained experience helped Hora stay sane and on top of things during the diplomatic nightmare formally referred to as Kaliassi Talks. With Lady Ren’s whole team catching maybe four hours of sleep a night, it was a miracle Hora never messed up in the time-managing department.

After three whole days to recover, she had thought herself invincible.

Or! Second possibility: she _was_ , indeed, invincible, and simply happened to stumble across a staged coup.

A wet plop put an end to her growing unease. By Hora’s feet, Hux worked the freshly rinsed rag over a stubborn machine oil stain. His movements radiated the kind of empty-minded calmness that came from executing a familiar manual task. Surely, he wouldn’t be so calm if danger lingered over Lady Ren. With that in mind, Hora analyzed the gathering through a more critical lens. Several present gave the impression of being just as wary of her as she was of them, a couple seemed amused and sympathetic, and some were… kids. Not a uniform group, like the girls from turbolift, but older, a mismatched band far separated in ages.

There wasn’t many here, really. Just, compared to the bustling hub of command center, Lady Ren’s apartments usually remained pretty deserted. For safety’s sake, only essential personnel had access: General Madava, the guards, Hora, beauty team… Hux, for whatever reason. After such relative solitude even ten guests felt like a lot.

Hux slapped her boot as a request to move aside, and the step she yielded was absentminded.

Praise stars, bedroom door promptly slid away to reveal Lady Ren. Another surprise: her face, usually made up to carry an enhanced appearance of bareness, was truly bare – freckles galore, – and practical training clothes replaced customary dresses. “Tafna, I’m glad to see your bruises gone. Oh, and Valoran cut his hair- My friend!” One look at Hora made the woman laugh, quick and bright, as she read everything easily. “Don’t be alarmed! These are my students.” Her greeting was laced with gentle teasing, pleasure at seeing the group obvious: “Younglings!” 

“Master Rey!” They returned. Rey – Hora recognized it by now. It was Lady Ren’s born name. She wondered idly if she herself had one at some point, or if First Order took her away nameless. If her parents had no opportunity to present their daughter with this simplest of gifts.

“That’s right, you’ve never properly met!” Lady Ren’s – Master Rey’s – smile brightened her whole face. “What a strange thought. Then again, we really had no time to spare, hadn’t we. Younglings, meet Yeoman Hora. She’s good people. Tel-Teli and Naann can probably see, and the rest of you lot will have to trust our word.” While students were voicing their amusement, Hora blushed at the praise and at the realization she had no idea what Lady Ren trained them in, exactly. “Take your places, please.”

Hux’s hasty (yet no less thorough for it) labor made more sense when the group started to drop down in a half-circle right on the swiftly drying floor. Hora used the pause and crept closer to Lady Ren, who was observing the proceedings lovingly, to apologize. “I’m so sorry, my lady. The calendar had no entry about this.” Their shared intranet document sometimes got edited by the woman directly, in most cases – to add appointments. Like a preliminary meeting with Supreme Leader’s medical team that occurred during the days of respite. Things could be easily overlooked, though, when one had such heavy responsibilities as Lady Ren’s. Hora fully believed the mishap her own fault: she tried to squeeze a reminder about updating said file into every morning briefing, and failed to do so before her departure to sleep the stress off.

But Lady Ren only scowled. “There’s no entry, and there never will be. Not a sentence, not a mark, not a jotted down code on a napkin. Am I making myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Hora bristled.

“Good. I don’t enjoy being so harsh, but. Protecting my students is my sacred duty. Too many Masters have failed before me,” a dark shadow flickered behind her eyes, “and I need to make amends. I hope you understand.” Hora understood exactly nothing – and Lady Ren, without a doubt, knew that, – but accepted the sentiment along with an apologetic shoulder pat. “We try to assemble every morning, for an hour or two, unless other obligations absolutely cannot be discarded.”

A bit of shuffling here and there… “You won’t have any scheduling conflicts by the end of the week, my lady.”

“Thank you.” 

A short answer. Constant reassurances from Lady Ren begun to gradually temper down as days passed, and this process was the most reassuring thing in and of itself. The woman had started to rely on Hora’s competence, acknowledged her abilities somewhere along the incessant slog to Kaliassi’s survival, and stopped playing nanny for the rookie. Hora frequently thought of biting ease witnessed between her lady and Lieutenant Dalon, General Madava… Could it be, such closeness wasn’t merely a farfetched dream?

The room awaited further instruction with patience, Lady Ren a center of the formed crescent. She gracefully sat down where she stood, folded her legs in a practiced motion. “I won’t apologize for the pause we had to take,” she began, “because lives got saved, and what matters more? I do hope you kept up with the daily routine and helped each other. Picking up where we left off, before anything else, demands we refocus ourselves. So – meditation. Armitage, will you join us? Hora is welcome, as well.” Hux had just then concluded his task, floor now glistening wet all the way to the entrance, and stood up. He looked himself over: filthy pants soaked through thigh to ankle, hands clutching a bucket of dirty water. Sweaty hair, made more copper with perspiration, fell on his forehead in greasy strands. “It’s alright. We can wait while you clean up; we’ll need the time to instruct Hora, anyway. Go, use my fresher.”

The original plan for this sudden open morning consisted of, a, briefing and, b, an attempt to seduce Lady Ren with breakfast into doing a yearly overview. Meditation was never a step.

“There’s no pressure to succeed, certainly not on your first try.” Others turned to study Hora, nodding along with their Master’s words. “Assisted meditation is best for a novice. Visualize an object – any object, but something simple and familiar would be best. Like a cup you regularly use, or a hairbrush. Focus on it until it overshadows everything. That done, erase it. And there will be nothing left. Just you.” Lady Ren smiled kindly and added: “These are your first steps.” 

Laughter that followed was written off as a light-hearted joke.

The students settled down, so Hora’s turn to scrutinize came. She chose a couch sit: being on the floor was always viewed as “lazing about” by overseeing officers and brought according punishment. Old habits were hard to shake off. At the very least, she could see everyone from such vacant point: mostly humans of different skin tones, but also a bright purple Twi’lek boy – a teenager, really, – and two siblings from the Republican world of Tatsar. Scarves intricately wrapped around their heads were as obvious a giveaway as the teenager’s lekku, and blood relation shone through in peculiar eye color and elongated nose shape. Hora guessed the brother was older by a year or two. 

Despite physical differences, sense of togetherness enveloped the group, Lady Ren at its center, – a star of the system, a point to orbit. People fit around her here as officers did in the command center or on the bridge, and she took them all in to allow for this fit. Took Hora in. Even Hux had his place at the very edge when he returned in clean sanitation overalls, wet hair slicked back and hands scrubbed.

Hora’s eyes slid shut. A simple familiar object… right. She decided on her trusty holopad, abandoned on a cushion nearby. Tried to imagine its weight in her hands, see the scratch at the top right corner, the tiny blinking light of holoprojector. 

“Naann,” Lady Ren was saying in the meantime, using that sluggish voice engrossed minds produce, “I feel your anger. No, don’t deny it. Don’t hide it. To learn how to deal with anger, how to process it, you have to allow yourself to feel it. You’ll never succeed if you press it down; it’ll grow like a tumor, infest and possess you. Look at your anger, but don’t let it blind you. Work through it, instead. Be angry. Then, be something else. You feel stuck, like you’ve made no progress. But, remember how we talked about a ladder? Small steps adding up? Remember a year ago, half a year ago. How far you’ve come-”

***

The farewell took place planetside this time, even though _Upsilon_ again featured in the background, like a brooding shadow from bitter past. Unlatched gangway a gaping maw and broken wings brought to a point above it – bird of prey so reminiscent of its master. Sky and waves were divided in their unalike blue, then blurred together into one at silvery horizon. Warm breeze steadily pressed from the ocean, disheveling hair and clothes of every soul stuck on the landing pad, and swept away a degree of formal stiffness. Incessant local sun had drawn out every last one of Lady Ren’s freckles, to the point where even makeup couldn’t hide them any longer. Supreme Leader’s space-dweller shade of pale acquired a reddish tint across the bridge of his nose and cheekbones.

Swinging scale dishes of emotion seemed to have fallen momentarily even between the two; leveled nose to nose in fragile balance. All the stilted dialogs peppered through last month, all the screaming matches held behind closed doors null and void. A draw. So much noise… and no give. Hardly ever any give. Status quo a rendezvous point where the pair came together to deliver painful goodbyes. 

Instead of putting on another kissing farce, Lady Ren visibly made a decision and a fast step ahead with it, as if from a cliff’s edge, to suddenly envelop her husband in a tight hug. Wind threw hair in his face, making the reaction indiscernible, but everyone could see his slowly raised arms returning it. 

“Thank you,” she said, quiet enough for Hora to have only caught it by virtue of standing down the wind. He answered: “Don’t.” Lady Ren backed away a little to see his eyes, and had to free one hand and fix his hair to do that.

“We were always alone together,” she pressed, and added, tentative: “Maybe now, together, we can be something else. Something new.”

You are never alone, my lady, Hora wanted to scream. Surrounded by people day and night, loved and supported; never, never alone. Yet, an invisible force stopped her. Because somehow, contrary to evidence, the truth of Lady Ren’s statement rang too strong. She-

-was jerking up and flinging herself into a sitting position, unnerved. Hux loomed over the couch with his leg aimed for another light kick at Hora’s ankles. She had dozed off, dreamt of the past. Of course.

“What? What’s going on?”

The room stood empty, no trace of Lady Ren’s students. The holopad proclaimed almost twelve hundred hours. Hux tapped his left shoulder, where field troopers used to wear red plates, and realization dawned. “Medical team!” The man barely managed to jump away as Hora scrambled past, mere minutes between her – the assigned escort – and the shuttle’s arrival.

***

Everything turned out fine in the end, even if the Hora picking up guests from _Supremacy_ was a much winded Hora. She had sufficient time to calm down since, get paperwork done, and get bored while waiting on the very same couch. The slot given to medics was considered a large one – three hours – and she naively believed it more than sufficient. Except two hours ticked by, the door to Lady Ren’s bedroom remained firmly shut, and Hora started getting nervous again.

She presumed the visit to be some kind of in-depth checkup to satisfy Supreme Leader’s nebulous insecurity, but what if Lady Ren required serious medical attention this whole time, and Hora never noticed?

Finally, an entire parade of black uniforms spilled out, pushing along an array of equipment on untigravs, with droid swarm studiously following. The head doctor – a captain – approached to meet Hora midway, probably to placate her worried expression. His eyes swiped towards her left breast first, before the gaze jumped up in search of collar insignia. Again. As if he had forgotten the rank in two hours. Feeling rebellious, she answered in like, and startled to see the bruises splotched around Captain’s neck earlier were now gone. If he noticed the scrutiny, he never showed it. “At ease, Yeoman. As it’s my understanding you’re in charge of Lady Ren’s schedule, I firmly request you keep her ladyship in current position for half an hour minimum. The procedure was successful, but there’s no need to undermine that success. I also stress the importance of hydration and adequate sleeping cycle.”

“Sir, yes sir!” Hora didn’t ask any questions, too aware that her clearance would grant every answer. It felt like a breaking of trust, going behind her lady’s back.

“Very well. Dismissed.”

Lady Ren lay on the bed in a silky slip-and-robe combo, typically reserved for greeting the beauty team in, covers bunched around her pelvis. Said pelvis was on a pillow, and the woman’s legs – high against the headboard and the wall above. Hair a soft halo around her head, she vacantly studied the ceiling as intertwined fingers rested atop her solar plexus.

“My lady?”

“I can tell you have a question on your mind,” the woman responded after a pause, parsecs away by the sound of it. “Go ahead, ask.”

Hora did have a question, formed from something Supreme Leader said a while ago and brought to the surface by today’s events. It probably wasn’t the one Lady Ren was expecting, but. “Are you… a Jedi? My lady.”

The woman hummed, surprised; sighed. “What do you know of the Jedi, Hora?”

Only the bare bones served with general education portion of stormtrooper training, and what was shared in hushed voices after lessons. “They were assassins of the Old Republic. They had- Had magic.”

Lady Ren laughed, sending the lock of her hands jumping up and down. “Well. I’m certainly not an assassin. But I _am_ a Jedi. I must confess, I still don’t know much about the old Order. I’m trying to do my best and guide others; blind leading the blind.” She laughed again and looked at Hora, face upside down and a row of teeth bright. “As for the magic... Life is everywhere, and all living things are connected in their energy. That’s what we call the Force. Some are born more open to its workings than others. It answers when we reach out.”

A collar of brown-and-red bruises. Burning cold stealing all air… “Is that what Supreme Leader- Is that how-”

The smile vanished. “Your mind went to him first. Why?”

“He scared me.”

“Oh. Understandable. He used to scare me too, once.” Lady Ren’s demeanor changed to solemn. “But I don’t want you to be afraid of the Force. It’s not… You always had a blaster, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Have you used it often under Donta?”

“Not often, no.” Hora gulped. “Um. Corporal rarely got sent into the field. When he did… They check for discharge after the division is pulled, to see if we. Slacked off. I tried not to aim well, but. There’s typically a lot of crossfire. I can’t be sure if-”

It was always easy to locate an ongoing shooting under overcast skies. The clouds directly above acquired a weird orange reflection, visible before pulsing flares of salvos, before high-pitched release and terrifies screams could be heard. Blaster shots instantly cauterized wounds, and, closer, victims were easy to sort by smell: burned flesh – a civilian, burned plastic – a fellow stormtrooper.

“I’m sorry, my friend. What a poor choice of analogy.” Lady Ren started rising on her elbows, and Hora, mindful of the medic’s orders, rushed over to gently push the woman down. She received a worried look for her troubles. “Don’t beat yourself up over it, I beg you: you had very little choice in the matter, and what you could do to stay human, you did. But if you had a choice? Would you have harmed an innocent just because the opportunity was there?”

An easy question. “No. Never.”

“The Force works in similar way. One can use it to harm. One can also use it to heal. It depends on the wielder. When you think of the Force, why don’t you try thinking of my students?”

But, instead, an image flared up in Hora’s mind, of small elated faces and Lady Ren’s smile mirroring their joy as shadows of levitated objects licked across her open palm over and over.

***

Emergency lights broke steady white glow of _Mercy_ ’s illuminating panels in rhythmic bursts as they flashed deep yellow – the exact color of a migraine. Red alert (maroon throbs in absolute darkness) switched on if life support failed and backup generators came online. Yellow alert, on the other hand, called all to be on the lookout for a ship-wide announcement, and personnel Levels 9 through 12 – to report for duty straightaway. Shrill alarm ripped into unsuspecting brains identically during both, though.

General Madava was already in a dash down the passageway when Hora jumped out, struggling through the sleep haze to strap her blaster on correctly – current time tilted deep into ship night.

“Quick on your feet, Yeoman,” General praised, overcast face in disconnection with the sentiment, as they continued side by side. “Good.”

The guards on shift in front of Lady Ren’s suite were moved apart when the door swooshed and the woman herself leaned out. Her eyelids didn’t get puffy with lack of sleep, but became surrounded by pink rings of irritated skin. She kept blinking furiously. “Ignessa, report!”

First, General bodily stuffed Hora and Lady Ren deeper into the room. Waves of wrinkles gathered on her brown forehead. “An uprising took place on Garmuda four hours ago. Uncoordinated with the Reb- the Resistance.” Hands folded at her lower back and head bowed to one shoulder, she made the conclusion gentle: “It has since been pacified.”

“Kriff. Kriff!” The news settled, having had visibly shaken Lady Ren – angry, but for a moment only. Her next question flew from the wardrobe room, enveloped in loud bangs of things getting hurled. “How bad?”

“Poor moof-milkers attacked our base, which was ways outside nearest city. And when _Dominion_ fired, that was the epicenter. But, you know, aftershocks… half the city is gone.”

Lady Ren emerged in familiar lightly colored training clothes, with sturdier boots and a wrap added for warmth, and clasped a utility belt around her trim waist. It carried a strange chrome cylinder, and a non-issue blaster besides. Next second, Hora was assaulted by an airborne nutribar. “Eat, we’ll need our strength.” Showing an example, the woman started chewing while she led everyone out. Her guards, now four in number by the power of unwitnessed mitosis, followed. “ _Dominion_ still?..”

“No. They were en route, only popped in to wrack havoc and went on their merry way.”

“Who’s in orbit, then?”

General snorted. “ _Ascendancy_ and _Magisterium_.”

“Perfect.” The bite Lady Ren took just then was mean and predatory. “Old buckets steered by old farts. They’ll fold in no time; they’re afraid to even breathe in my direction.” Near turbolifts, before one arrived, the procession was joined by _Mercy_ ’s Chief Supply Officer, a grim and very young man. “What’s our status on necessities?”

“All accounted.”

Hora tried to wrestle the nutribar wrapper away from viciously chomping Lady Ren without interrupting her own intranet search. “What was the problem on Kuron? With the- Uh-”

“The usual. Latrines, body identification. It was the soil; too hard to dig manually. We’re much better prepared this time.”

“Let’s try to bring as many to their families as we can. I leave it in your hands. I know you’ll manage.” He nodded, and the doors slid shut.

 _Mercy_ was already in jump. Hyperspace bloomed in every viewport and lit the bridge afire with reflected highlights. Everyone was moving about, erratic – busyness that came from preparing a landing party of hundreds shuttles. Lady Ren practically ran to the commanding chair; the whole ship was, no doubt, beyond ready for the whining alarm to shut off.

“Attention, crew. This is Lady Ren speaking. Today, at zero hundred hours standard, a planet in-” Hora quickly shoved her holopad under the lady’s nose. “12-MAI system, Garmuda, suffered a heavy orbital strike from First Order vessel _Dominion_. We are running a relief mission and providing humanitarian aid to local government. Carry out the protocol, effective immediately. All civilian personnel and guests, your participation is, as always, voluntary. Please, if interested, refer to your coordinators according to deck assignments. ETA-” It was General Madava’s turn to convey information silently. “-30 minutes. Do not expect a warm welcome, follow the code of conduct. I have all faith in our success.” She switched out, and added to no one in particular: “May the Force be with you.”

General was waving some petty officer away and suggested with a tense smile: “We have channels with old farts established, if you want to let out some steam?” Lady Ren’s sharp upturned nose scrunched – she was tying her brown hair up and away haphazardly. “Ignessa, dear, what would I do without you. Don’t bother with the holo, just patch the bastards through.

“Attention, _Ascendancy_ , _Magisterium_. This is Lady Ren speaking.” The start was identical to what crew had received, but the sheer blunt force behind it flattened. It sounded exactly the way Supreme Leader did when he felt _demonstrative_. Lady Ren’s eyes burned just as hot. “As the senior present authority in the sector, I hereby assume command over your vessels. General Tadro, General Sivilon, yield superiority to General Madava.”

Leaving outdated, yet-to-be-retired ships with lesser firepower to guard a conquest was standard procedure. Population rarely could detect such minutiae in their horror (hulking ghosts still looked impressive from land), and flagships had better things to do than play scarecrow for what they lay to ruin. The dubious honor thus got unburdened on generals whose political views no longer aligned with the highest chair, but whose battle fame still shone too bright for dishonorable discharge – or worse. Years ago, this was General Madava’s foreseeable destiny. Lucky for the woman, her political views forked out in a direction opposite to other First Order veterans – straight to Lady Ren’s attention, instead.

Scarecrows yielded as easily as predicted.

“ _Magisterium_ , reporting for duty.”

“ _Ascendancy_ , reporting for duty.”

“I require both your medical teams, in their entirety and fully equipped, assisting _Mercy_ ’s efforts on Garmuda in half an hour. And scrape together a construction battalion each, would you.” Lady Ren tipped into saccharine notes reserved for filthiest scum in the galaxy. “Perform well, dear generals. I would hate to report back to Supreme Leader in a state of upset.”

***

The return of realspace sawed at Lady Ren: she hunched in her sit, face hidden behind a hand, pained as if black vastness ate through her abdomen. Hora silently cursed the timing, because that happened to be the moment she finally succumbed to the nutribar’s alluring call. It was a chewy kriffer, and protein paste soldered her teeth together for good.

If all living things were supposedly connected, and her lady could feel it… could she also feel their pain, and suffering, and fear?

Security team squeezed a compromise out of the woman, according to which Lady Ren’s _Omicron_ dispatched with the third wave of shuttles, not the very first. The medical evac vessel had small rectangular viewports, and through the thick transparisteel damage done to Garmuda wasn’t even noticeable until they began planetfall. On a patchwork surface smoldered a black sear. What at first glance appeared to be cold front was in actuality smoke rising from the fires along its perimeter. The order of amphibian nuns _Omicron_ transported as volunteers oohed and aahed, distraught. Lady Ren and the three students she brought along – Tel-Teli, Valoran, Naann – sat deep in meditation with their backs to the ruin, but Hora would bet they still saw everything. 

“Min Gylif,” exhaled the awed governor once he came face-to-face with the disembarked party. His wan complexion and disheveled appearance were heightened by descending twilight and the orange of distant flames. Lady Ren’s teeth squeaked with the strength of her clenched jaw. “Governor,” she greeted, which brought the man to his senses. He was understandably overwhelmed in every way, close to tears.

“Lady Ren. We dared not hope you’ll come.” His voice and hands trembled when he attempted to shake hers – only to quickly change his mind.

“But here I am, Governor,” she softened. “What do you need most?”

He tried to gather disintegrating threads of what needed to be done _right this second_ and was overcome. “The rubble and the fires require manpower, equipment we don’t have- Nearest hospitals are overrun, understaffed. Supplies- water-”

“We come bearing all those things. My officers are experienced in handling your type of crisis. Please, follow their lead.”

As grim CSO reappeared to take the governor away, Lady Ren slowly evaluated the hectic landing field. Hora followed suit. Warm season reined, judging by the flourishing greenery – or, more accurately, violet-ery? – around. Farther north, few remaining lights were blinking, strewn across the shattered cityscape. The skies presented half pinkish dusk, half smoking inferno. A white stroke of moondust ring was painted across the clear part, and all three Star Destroyers glistened underneath it. Ash fell from above in lazy off-white flakes; one caressed Lady Ren’s cheek on the way down. No wind – bless stars for this small kindness. Over a hill, not quite disguised by rumble of engines, fire roared, and people echoed it.

“Which hospitals are the closest?” Lady Ren asked. Filtering masks distorted voices, but did away with the smell of burning, and Hora was immensely grateful for it. She quickly unfolded a holomap of the area: “These three.”

“Three…” The woman fell silent for too long. Finally, she outstretched a hand and ran her fingers through the projection in mock caress. “Naann and Valoran, you’ll go here. Tel-Teli, the southwestern one. We’ll take this. Now go. May the Force be with you.”

Variations of “yes, Master” split their crowd of military and nuns in three. Lady Ren took her third to the waiting vehicle, and, soon enough, chaos enveloped them.

A square security perimeter was established around the woman, with praetorian guards at angle points. Only Hora and Lieutenant Dalon, who greeted them on site, were allowed in. The hospital evidently had an autonomous generator, because all its doors and windows were emanating cold, clinical light. Every type of transport imaginable crowded around the building, commotion reaching the roof and overspilling onto a plaza at its front and surrounding streets. Lieutenant’s soldiers had already established a cordon and organized panicking crowds into rough lines; first aid was distributed by volunteers coursing up and down them. A missing persons center was operating from a large tent, a forest of holos around it. Heavy freighters started dispensing supplies and fuel.

“Excellent work, Parna,” Lady Ren commended. “We’re getting good at this.”

“Yeah. How kriffing sad, huh.” She frantically waved someone over. “Lady Ren, I want to introduce you to the Head Healer, if I can catch the hussy-”

“Leave her be, she has enough to deal with. Better show us to the triage station.”

Recognition rolled through the mass of help-seekers at the entrance without reserve, and they roared up in distress. Cordon held, but it was a near thing; hands flew up, clean and dirty and bloodied, reaching for Lady Ren – their savior and grace even without the pretties and fanfare; perhaps even more so, without. Shouts of “Min Gylif” filled the air. She haltered and faced them open and broken, no chance to comfort all, but soul blind to the fact. “We won’t be leaving,” she screamed, and Hora heard that scream not only with her ears, but also inside her head, “until everyone gets the help they need!” The crowd cheered, high on heady mix of fear and hope. Angry faces were among the yelling, but fewer in numbers than Hora had anticipated.

Away from distressed eyes of concerned relatives, triage tents had been set up in two rows across the fenced-off back yard. Behind their bulky lumps, a hundred meters deeper into what was once the hospital park, temporary burial trenches were getting dug by hand. Another _Omicron_ soundlessly hung in the air, spilling white projector light over the area.

“So, you’re the savior,” suddenly asked a woman near a field hema-synthesizer, half-facing the newcomers.

Lady Ren responded without pause: “No. You are.”

“I am no savior, just Head Nurse.” She silently shook a confirmation bleep out of the machine. “We appreciate the help. We also appreciate others not getting under working feet.”

“Of course. Where’s the mercy tent?”

There was a red lantern above its entrance, and silence inside. No running feet, or pained screaming, not even weak moans. Untigrav cots huddled closer together, without equipment in-between. Where nurses and doctors would be, only nuns walked, carrying delicate dishes of heady incense. Its transparent blue tendrils draped over all other smells with nose-pinching freshness. The nuns were Garmoid, of some local faith, and graciously accepted intruders and colleagues alike in their space. Two of the sisters had droids with medical trays full of syringes following from one gravely injured to another – those were intercepted, attached to Lady Ren’s side.

Lady Ren unstrapped the mask from her face and went to kneel in front of the very first patient. It happened to be a small boy, with whole body barely stretched to the cot’s half-length. An impossibly intense fire had licked up his left side, light tunic in parts one with the skin now. Determination in every movement, the woman didn’t fret over raw flesh; she was used to sights of such nature. Her fingers fanned over his black, smoldered curls, and soon came away slick with blood and lymph. “He’s one with the Force already,” she stated, gesturing to the nun, and rose to another examination. Hora, actual medical officer from _Mercy_ , and the only guard left inside followed on a short leash of fascination. The man to receive Lady Ren’s touch next was tall, slack face grey with blood loss. She frowned, listening to what only existed for her ears. As her breathing labored, his eased, until – Hora stifled a gasp – he gulped for air and arched up from the cot.

Impossible!

“This one can be worked on,” Lady Ren declared. The officer hurried to scan the man’s vitals and, satisfied, pressed a button of a light pendant around his neck till it shone orange and not red. Nuns started pushing him towards a second chance, and Hora stopped gaping long enough to find her lady already deep at work with the third patient. 

It took Hora an embarrassingly long time to realize why, not an hour ago, Lady Ren studied the burning circle marks on a holomap with such shattered expression. She was deciding where people will be saved. And, consequently, where they will die. A horrendous responsibility to shoulder.

***

Night fell and fell away, an early pre-dawn morning flickered, and the fires had since been subdued. Hora’s dominant hand felt like a cramped up claw from all the frantic typing she had done filling out request forms and keeping Lady Ren connected to the proceedings of the mission, but free to continue healing. When she finally ventured back into the yard in search of food, she forgot her mask, but didn’t regret it – the air, though not fresh yet, was already clearing up. Field kitchen had a trail of sweaty, dirty soldiers, uniforms in disarray, leading up to it. Min Gylif’s yeoman was spared the wait, though. Hora chose a can of creamy vegetable soup for her lady, and a waterbread packet for herself. She doubted anyone would crave a heavy, meaty dish after a whole night of staring at human beings coming apart at their seams. She, personally, felt no hunger whatsoever, but rational thought proclaimed sustenance a necessity; to keep the strength up, if nothing else. Plain old waterbread would do the job.

Back in the tent, a surprise of questionable nature awaited in the form of Hux. Sweaty mess on par with the rest, he stood in the corner with bleeding hands held away in the air – popped blisters from the shovel. One of the sisters was admonishing him for turning here and not to the first aid tent, but kept distributing thick goo over the injuries. Ex-general kept seething with nebulous anger and had obviously been crying extensively during the night. Hora ignored the man as she flew past.

A kind soul set up privacy curtains, carving out a section of the tent specifically for Lady Ren’s work. It was vacated for a short respite, last bleeding body gone with fate unknown to Hora, and her lady sat sprawled over a stack of crates in the corner, limbs akimbo. Stray hairs were stuck to her forehead and temples; trembling eyelids seemed so thin and delicate. Freckles stood out more against exhausted pastiness. She was a literal miracle worker. Hora let her be for a minute, turned to the guard and, obeying the protocol, let him examine and open the self-heating can, then check the thing for poison. Satisfied, he returned the soup.

“You never answer,” Lady Ren whispered. “Never come when I need you.”

“My lady? I am here,” Hora approached, made sure the receiving hold on the can was secure. “I’ll always answer, I swear. We really should eat.”

The woman smiled wanly, back from distances unknown. “Thank you, my friend.” As she tore a spoon outline from the can’s label and let it stiffen into a coherent utensil, Hora found a flask and added some water to her peeled plastic dish. The powder inside hissed, dissolving, and started to take shape.

“Is that waterbread?!” Lady Ren exclaimed, instantly livelier and starry-eyed. Hora’s dubious nod caused a plea: “Can I have some? It’s been years!” There was no choice, really, but to give the bun away with an “umm”. The soup steamed right up Hora’s nose, artificially appetizing and a bit too much. She could swear there was a put-upon sigh from the guard – he now had to check the bread, too. Lady Ren surrendered a tiny crumb and swore at him in Teedospeak to prevent further robbery. 

While they ate, a Garmoid nun stepped inside to take a shot at tackling the absolute mess created. It spoke loads of everyone’s exhaustion and the level of crisis at hand, that they were comfortable and borderline relaxed with breaking fast meters away from bloodied bandages and used bacta patches.

“Have you eaten?” Lady Ren asked the newcomer. Portioned waterbread was tiny, but the woman would give up leftover half in a heartbeat, no doubt. The sister, though, shook her cloth-wrapped head: “It’s the Holy Season.”

Lady Ren accepted that, and continued, conversational: “Where’s your convent?”

“In ruins. We were praying in the temple when light came from the sky. Any other month, and mid-day prayers would be given in the cells. The Merciful Daughter spared us so we could help othe-”

Commotion wrapped in a string of lewd profanity burst from behind the partition. Struggling through the last mouthful, Lady Ren stood up and snapped her fingers – fabric rustled, clearing the view. A new victim had been admitted during this impromptu break, but their meal went on in peace because the man had an orange label, a tourniquet, and an IV of painkillers already attached. The same couldn’t be said about his leg, a mangled disaster connected to the rest by divine influence, no less. If he wasn’t as agitated, he’d be Category 3, yellow; most likely, personnel hoped Lady Ren could save the limb. A good sign: critical cases came not as often, or enough doctors were able to re-focus on them. Moreover, it looked like a crush injury – so, victims rescued from under the rubble had started to arrive. Another influx of injured could probably be expected soon.

Definitely attached to the guy was Hux, who held him up by a handful of shirt, fist drawn for a punch. “Watch your mouth, slug, or I’ll leave you one eye only, to match the leg,” ex-general hissed into the face daring him. To Hora’s great surprise, Lady Ren said nothing, passively allowing the scene to unfold. Hux huffed twice, murderous, but eventually simmered down and let the man plop back on the cot. Only then Lady Ren made her presence known. “Lovely,” she said, coming closer, and ex-general flinched. His palm was carelessly picked up for a quick inspection. Hora thought, maybe she’d cover it with her own to heal, but the woman just let go. The limb flopped, like a dead fish. “A fool’s mistake, Armitage. Wear gloves.”

“Here she is,” came a croon of dark glee. “The whore herself! I was just telling your friend here all about you!”

The tent filled with nuns’ disapproval; with two separate confessions present, that was severe. Multiple discreet blessings were performed. Hora’s eyes bugged out and the praetorian guard hovered, but Lady Ren spoke to the injured calmly. “I’m a famous woman, that’s no secret. You can call me Rey, spare the sisters’ modesty.”

“And you can call me Master Aríl, whore.”

“Very well, Master Aríl.” She reached to lay a hand on the man, only for him to recoil: “Get your filthy paws away from me!”

“I’m really sorry you got hurt. But, what’s done is done, and there’s little we can do except try and fix it.”

“Sorry! She’s sorry, everybody!” He verged on exhilaration caused by heavy drugs. Spit flew from distorted mouth, every word – over-enunciated venom. Funnily enough, the man’s youthful beauty remained, even in his fury. “That murderer you let between your legs sends you here with bits and bobs from the master’s table! Sends us his grieving bedroom mat after frying us to pieces! So that we, what? Fall gratefully at your feet? Worship your two-faced, ugly soul? If you had any conscience at all, you’d murder him in his sleep.” 

“And then what?” Lady Ren asked, not unkindly. “He has three immediate successors and fifteen more besides, all protocoled. If I had killed him, you would have still gotten fried, but there would be no one here helping. Certainly no bits, and forget about the bobs.”

The man laughed at that, hysterical, and didn’t stop. He also kept evading Lady Ren’s touch.

“Come now, Master Aríl,” she pressed in a gentle manner. Their eyes bore into one another, and his laughter died abruptly. “You need your leg, no two ways about it. You promised Soríl you’d teach him to ride a hoverbike this summer, remember? That won’t happen with a prosthetic as quickly, you’ll have to postpone again. He won’t forgive a second delay.”

“I need my leg,” Garmoid repeated, slack lips fighting each word.

“Of course.”

It could hardly be processed, how easy human body reverted back to meat. The soup Hora scarfed down – first to voice its discomfort about the fact – barely settled as tissue knit together, forming a more cohesive, solid form. There was a _sound_ , too; small wet pops. The whole terrifying wound reanimated, slithering in pursuit of Lady Ren’s fingers that passed over it. Next, this dissonance disappeared, and simply a man with a badly hurt leg was left, dazed and limp on his bed.

“Should do,” his savior exhaled. She stood up; swayed, but managed to stay upright. Her light-grey pants bore stains from kneeling so frequently, as black as the curves of dried blood under her nails. 

No one said a word when Lady Ren left the tent. Hux, nuns, medics all acted as if they hadn’t noticed. The guard didn’t react in any way, neither did security outside. Hora trailed after the woman in confusion, holopad hugged close. The world kept waiting for their star, unperturbed by any suffering beneath its rule, to rise. Nothing so far; pink-blue rays were yet to breach the horizon. But the eye could see clearly in this hazy twilight, enough to witness the absolute absence of shadows. No shadows, no light, just merged un-reality.

When Lady Ren overrode a lock on a sealed supply container and snuck inside, Hora understood that she was _allowed_ to follow.

According to safety regulations, a narrow path shot through the box otherwise full of crates. Mid-way, it widened and became a square clearing with emergency exits on both sides. Borrowed in this bolthole, Lady Ren begun pacing the tiny space, one hand on her waist, almost propping herself, and fingers of the other – curling against downturn mouth. When Hora finally caught up, the woman looked at her askance. In the dismal glow of tiny guide lights her eyes shone, akin to a wild animal.

“He’s right about everything, Master Aríl is. Smart man. He'll probably use that leg to kick my dead body one day. And I don’t begrudge him the sentiment. Not at all.” Like a dam breaking, composure fled Lady Ren, and raw despair poured out. “Before, I could at least say I’ve never- I had that much. But even that’s not true anymore, isn’t it?” A dry sob shook her frame. Words crowded together, frantic. “I should be with my friends, fighting by their side, saving people. Only… there, they need me to do it by killing more, while here, I’m free to heal. Funny. Nothing is clear-cut: consider this.” This last sentence mocked something Hora didn’t recognize – worse, she didn’t get half the tirade. While she struggled with confusion, tears came to her lady, though not of sorrow. Angry, involuntary ones, that made her eyelashes stick into small wet triangles. She dabbed at them, laughed bitterly and demonstrated the drops on her fingers to the sole spectator. “Three years ago, I decided I was done shedding tears over him. Two years ago, I accepted I will never run out.”

They were talking about Supreme Leader now. He had fought out of her a voice belonging exclusively to him, to be spoken about. Hora saw the cruel intensity with which hope took roots in the woman’s heart in recent weeks; she now witnessed it dying – for the first time; again. Lady Ren’s anger was aimed at herself, and Supreme Leader, and the injured man back in the triage station in equal measures. She melted to be jittery and defensive in the privacy of this breakdown. She would have never let the words out if the circumstances were anything other then what they were. Exhaustion and hurt carved honesty out of people since stars were dust. And what Lady Ren said with passionate conviction was her truth – some part of it, or some form, but truth nonetheless.

“The darkness he fought, for years, the darkness he survived – no one else could’ve handled. He’s still in there, alive; you’ve seen it.” She clasped Hora’s forearms, desperate for confirmation. Thumbs dug deep, left bloodless milky spots of pressure, and it hurt. “Anyone else, _anyone_ in the galaxy would have long been lost. But he’s still here, that’s how strong his Light is. It’s _blinding_. Since Snoke’s death, there had been no stopping it. It’s coming like a sandstorm.” Her pretty lips distorted with grimace camouflaged as a smile. 

Hora would have loved to provide reassurances, but she knew another truth. A resilient survivor was absent from her memories, but an angry and blunt man was there, too strong to not carry his own demise. A man with an obvious weakness, a soft spot that soared through space parsecs away, healing legs crashed under his anger’s weight. But Hora also wasn’t the one connected to him by a frightening inevitability. So she kept her mouth shut.

“Weapons of mass destruction aside, I alone can take him down. And I will never do that. I’m not as strong; if I do, _my_ Light will go out – I can feel it. Darkness whispering in my ear, close.” She made a claw near her temple to demonstrate unseeing horrors drilling into her mind. “We need the Light to survive, there’s so little left. And I won’t listen neither to lords of Korriban nor to forgotten travellers.” Frantic nodding. “My best might not be enough, but it’s all I have.”

Hot forehead came to rest against Hora’s shoulder, and, while Lady Ren suffered through a short cry, she could only hold tight.

***

When they were already by the container’s hatch, Lady Ren whispered: “That boy.”

“Yes.” Hora knew whom she was speaking about – the burned child with scorched curls, first the woman gifted with touch.

“He was Soríl, Master Aríl’s brother.” With that, she walked out.

***

Hora had, of course, heard of such barbaric medical procedures as transfusing blood from an alive person to a patient, but wasn’t aware those still were performed in her day. When necessity called for it, medics did not hesitate. Even if the concept seemed extremely unsanitary. Sailing through a request form on auto-pilot (“hema-synth is broken, send more” in bureaucratic-speak), she caught the suggestion from first row sit.

“We’ll donate some while the replacement gets here, as will all able personnel on site.”

Oh, really. Ten minutes more, and they would have popped a couple of stimulators nuns handed out like party favors, thus freeing themselves from needles for eight hours straight. Duty called first, though. Hora drew up another form, “go tell your soldiers to bleed in a tube”.

It wasn’t as scary as she imagined. Familiarity of walking after straight-backed Lady Ren into the thick of things lulled her into a more confident mind frame. An orderly dispatched from the table out in the yard, bearing a scanner. The device got dosed in blood during the night, but its contact section was equipped with self-sterilizing field – the polished metallic patch positively shone. Hora pressed a finger to it. Pain was absent; the miniature display turned blue in acceptance of her sample, processed it, and spit out a sticker.

“Let’s see here,” Lady Ren thumbed the pad and leaned closer to study the label on Hora’s fingertip. ““Cleared donor”, congratulations! Human TT negative 4, huh. You know, Ignessa says, TT negative types are supposed to be very talkative. Strange. And groups 4 and 6-”

“Um,” the orderly interrupted. “M- My lady? You should see this, I think?”

Blue gone, the display turned orange. Before Hora could discern the issued warning, Lady Ren grabbed the scanner and pocketed it. She sharply turned on the orderly: “Who else saw this?”

“N-no one, my lady!”

“Is it transmitting the data somewhere?”

“No. It’s hospital property, and satellites are offline.”

She nodded and did something already borderline familiar: looked him in the eye. As if on cue, the orderly relaxed. “It appears that I have a mild case of Tatsareed flu, and can’t give blood.”

“You have a mild case of Tatsareed flu,” he fed back to her, all glitching droid.

“The scanner is, unfortunately, malfunctioning,” she pointed at Hora. “My Yeoman will get you a new unit.”

What an interesting form that would have been! “Please, send new hema-scanner because we lied and stole the old one”, fill out four copies.

“The scanner is malfunctioning.”

Standard one it was.

The orderly waddled away empty-handed, and Lady Ren spun left. Her puffy eyes, sensitive to the newly awaken sun, thinned further. But Hora could still see the way she traced hospital grounds with a glower. Temporary burial trenches were a hundred meters long each, easy, with three dug so far. Heat-resistant bags and a meter and a half of depth protected the bodies from boiling weather and most of the bugs while dreading loved ones wondered around. Occupied slots had holoprojected separators with information and images on them shimmering above. The lines of blue were long, with rare skips.

Lady Ren’s right hand glided down her abdomen as she watched this display of grief, but the left one joined its sister almost immediately and turned that caress into an uneasy hug.


	3. Anything, Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more talking before action starts! Let's see how Kylo Ben is doing, why don't we.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so excited to be writing Chapter 4, I procrastinated writing this one by doing it :D So, a win-win?
> 
> As usual, **mind the tags!**
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, pressing ♥, and leaving comments! It makes me very happy and keeps me inspired.

“Good news: both blastocysts look healthy. Overall profile-”

“Both?!”

“My lady, I believe we covered this? Stimulating drugs are known to cause hyperovulation, which increases chances of dizygotic twins being conceived. We could remove the excess, ill-advised as it may be.”

“No, Captain, that’s unnecessary. But as the person who’s two times more pregnant than they normally are, I think I deserve to have an emotional response.”

“Apologies, my lady.”

Hora loved Lady Ren’s office. It had the right atmosphere. Not temperature-wise, her ladyship’s apartments as a rule ran hotter compared to the rest of the ship, but – the right ambience. Heaping bookcases lined the walls, interspersed throughout by cozy sitting options. Holocubes and memory-cords, scrolls and books domineered the shelves. There were never-ending miscellaneous keepsakes over any leftover surface. Potted plants, children’s drawings, and throw pillows also featured heavily.

But the best thing, beyond a doubt, was the table. Or the vaguely table-shaped mountain of chaos at the back of the room. The original furniture piece still existed under there somewhere, surely – Hora almost believed it. Lady Ren spent hours of her downtime studying behind the thing. More than once, Hora had drifted off on the couch she had claimed for herself to the doorway-framed picture: her lady reading with a fold between her eyebrows as she argued with one text or the other, indiscernible.

It was a folio of transcripts today, “Royal Ascension Speeches: Post-Jafan Nabooian”, according to flyleaf. Hora gave the two an hour of privacy to get things nice and calm, and had her yearly overview template on the ready, but then Captain Nuisance had to pop in for a chat.

Well, fine, more like an important meeting. But still!

“If I may continue,” the man said, careful, “overall profile reads perfect. Everything’s at preferred level. Your health is phenomenal.”

Lady Ren’s features hardened. “Let’s get the file transfer done as soon as possible. We’ll be a shuttle-jump away from _Supremacy_ shortly, and I want you gone.”

“Lady Ren, I beg you to recons-”

A snap of folio closing on its own underlined the power imbalance in the conversation. “Transfer my file over to Doctor Rittrr and prepare your subordinates for inspection. For you, an all-clear is the only way to leave this ship. And to leave this ship is your only way to please me.” Today was a cape dress day, a dove-grey sharp shoulder sheath, and Lady Ren looked positively regal as she set in a high back chair, surrounded by all her artifacts. The whole picture brooked no argument. “Thank you for your service, Captain. Dismissed.”

The second they were alone, Lady Ren banged a drawer and pinned the folio’s pages under a medical hema-scanner. Stolen from Garmoid hospital, it was the original bearer of good – consensus pending – news. The impact made dried blood on its panel flake in certain places and speckle the paper with dark flecks.

“Put this directly in Supreme Leader’s hands, and make sure he takes those kriffing gloves off,” she growled, and pushed away from the table.

Office swam before Hora’s eyes. “I’m the one going?”

When Internal Affairs had stormed in to take Donta away, she had been beyond scared. Unsure of blurry future, terrified of a possibility that unseen new monster awaited her ahead, demanding to be deciphered from scratch. She knew Donta inside and out, by that point. He was familiar and thus safe, in a way, like lying in her own filth. To leave _Supremacy_ seemed a condemnation. Funny how things had changed: she now dreaded going back.

“You’ll have full security detail and use Ignessa’s _Upsilon_. In and out.” Lady Ren lowered the spritzer she was channeling her frustrations into; Tatsareed cacti sighed in relief. What the visit really meant was coming face-to-face with Supreme Leader. And if his wife altered minds of others, how deeply would he be able to- “He won’t. It’s against the rules. If he’ll try it, I’ll know, and repair any damage. Most importantly,” the woman turned, “I trust you.”

For safety, not a peep could be sent over any frequency about… Health Issues, the team decided to call it. Yesterday’s announcement during briefing left everyone shaken. Shimmii-the-stylist had diffused the tension when they huffed and declared: “I guess, ponchos are making a comeback. Cardigans. Overthrows. Floor-length capes-”

“I won’t let you down, my lady.” The order had to be obeyed regardless, but consideration made all the difference. 

Lady Ren switched to budding mirrorflowers and pushed the spritzer’s bronze pump viciously. Stems trembled under the pressure of water hitting them head-on. Hora tried to guess: “Are you upset Supreme Leader is the father?”

“Supreme Leader? Yes. Ben?” Strange to think even he had a name under all the pompous epithets. “At first, I thought he was completely evil. Then, I thought he was abused innocence, good to the bone. And, turns out, it’s much-much worse. Turns out, he’s human. Like me, like you.” Mirrorflowers clang to their last petal. “Humans make more humans. That’s just life.”

Life... “Are you upset the doctor suggested extraction?” 

“No. There’s no life there yet, only developing vessels for it to inhabit later.” Pruning shears were stacked atop a tray of holocubes with “Mid Rim Economy - STUPID” label on it. Hora quietly relocated them to “Mid Rim Economy - STUPIDER” tray, farther away. Blind to the scheme, Lady Ren kept going: “Growing up on a desert dirtball, I dreamt of becoming many things. Sometimes, a parent would be one of them. I never thought I’d get the option. Get enough food on my table, _in my body_ for that to happen.” She sighed. A miniature mushroom log – that required no watering – was next. “Even before accepting my parents’ desertion, I used to imagine having a child and simply… loving them. Never leaving them. Now, they are going to be just a couple more endangered kids on board. And, maybe, I’ll have to leave them. But I still think one can find a better place than a junkyard to do that.” The spritzer ran out, and the woman pumped it several more times with excessive force before giving up. She tabled the bottle and fell back in her chair. “Lucky for me, I now have every resource at my disposal, and Supreme Leader doesn’t really care about children – or heirs, even. He cares about the appearance of them. So, I’m sure, I’ll have plenty of time to be by their side.” She studied Hora’s expression. “You had the shot, I presume?” 

“Yes. Until Reintroduction, they updated it during transfers.”

Lady Ren prickled up, reaching over the tabletop. “They haven’t, though?”

“No, no. In three years, my cycle should return.” 

A sigh of relief accompanied the smile: “Then let’s work hard so that in three years, whether you want to become a biological parent or avoid such an occurrence, you have safe options to do as you wish.”

Hora nodded. To entertain such choice seemed surreal, but this place re-taught quickly how to hope.

***

A bored once-over was received by all before Hux’s steps synchronized with Hora’s. Atypical; the man preferred his eyes floor-bound. He was in coveralls again, though these not sanitation-issue, but some pilot’s old training pair. A now meticulously repaired slash down left thigh must have prompted the original owner to abandon his garment in needier hands. Every insignia patch torn off, the fabric carried dark rectangles here and there.

“Can I help you?” Hora asked, since it was lunch hour – the daily time when ex-general abused his vocal cords to make a dozen or so pissy remarks. She had only seen him break the vow once, four days ago in the triage tent. Hema-scanner on her utility belt, similarly a four days old possession, felt like it could burn a hole straight through the leather. To her understanding, Hux wouldn’t have been made aware of the Health Issues, and the presumption seemed true to the fact. 

His clean-shaven face was serene, and he sounded condescending – ex-general’s version of neutral: “Lady Ren instructed me to join. Aren’t you supposed to be tracking these things?”

Kriff. Her lady must’ve updated the schedule last second. Hora knew better than to skip checks! Especially since the holopad was staying behind – it could do irreparable damage if the wrong hands got ahold of the information inside. Hux was probably a smokescreen, false pretense for the visit.

“Look alive,” Hora shrugged, unwilling to show her self-deprecation in front of him.

The interior of _Upsilon_ didn’t match its menacing shape. It looked fake, like a fancy toy, shining black panels all around. As if manufacturers boiled First Order aesthetic down to “Imperial Kitsch” and stuffed all final products in like (under an accompaniment of designers crying). Hora gingerly lowered the side bench safety harness, too afraid to touch anything polished and leave a smear. Her fingers found reassurance in solid shape of the micro-beacon Lady Ren had insisted on for worst-case scenarios.

Hux sat directly next to her, pinching the fabric over his knees to prevent stretching, and Hora frowned. They weren’t openly hostile anymore, but no love – or personal space – was lost. With initial scare worn off, little lingered. Even in the height of his power, Hora harbored nothing towards the man. Demons to fear? She had closer. Figures to admire? There were better candidates. Those who actually talked to the troopers, not just threw speeches at them, and ventured outside Academy walls sometimes. Lili liked to joke that General Hux’s sermons were too big-worded to stay awake, but too spit-infused to fall asleep.

“Hora,” he started, when the shuttle entered hyperspace. Waited for it, too. Like she would’ve catapulted out otherwise. “Could you do me a favor, do you think?”

The first impulse, not burned out yet, was to immediately obey – but she resisted. “Depends on the favor.”

Reaching in his breast pocket, Hux came up with a small open envelope, the kind where lining puffed up around the contents if sealed. “Give this to Lady Ren for me?” It was very easy for him to look vulnerable, with how pale and red-rimmed around the eyes he was.

“Isn’t tomorrow linen day? Do it yourself.”

He looked away for a while, then tried again: “Please?”

Oh, fine!

She accepted the enveloped from his steady scab-covered hand. It weighted nothing.

***

The Citadel part of _Supremacy_ was misleadingly considered the ship’s heart, so conjured visuals often placed it next to the core, deep inside. That wasn’t correct. In reality, the stronghold set as far from anything potentially explosive as possible. It had an option to be insulated from _Supremacy_ , ran on an independent power source, and a separate hyperdrive gave it the ability to undock and function as a jump-able vessel of its own. Anything to ensure Supreme Leader’s continuous survival.

Hora had spent most of her life on _Supremacy_ , she undergone training aboard it, and the thought of having explored as little of the dreadnaught as she had been allowed genuinely upset her. Made it seem like her life started in a cage. The “highest” she had ever crawled was the office block, maybe Donta’s bunk in officers’ quarters. Recreational deck 14-South, where soirées were thrown. From space, she could see what a miserable chunk of gargantuan cosmic creature, smaller TIE-remoras all around it, that really constituted.

Well, everything was about to change.

No time got spared for worries when a brief but weirdly intense standoff went down between _Mercy_ ’s security and the receiving side. It culminated with Lady Ren’s team entering Citadel encircled by a small army. Strolling there caused no nostalgia, the route utterly unfamiliar to Hora; her fellow traveller, on the other hand, walked a sure walk. Their cohort caused most noise around. First and foremost, Citadel was empty: sterile and free of people, with rare death troopers on posts and an occasional service droid sneaking past.

Lady Ren loved food. She piled one plate high and ate neatly – not a crumb left behind, – but with great gusto, unashamed to use her hands. Supreme Leader had a whole spread before him, crystal and utensils competing in their polished shine, with forks-knives-spoons and Coruscanti pinching thimbles arranged for an experienced aristocrat. But his gastronomic enthusiasm was non-existent. He chewed as if the food was more of a chore than the etiquette surrounding it, and it was hard to imagine his gloved hands touching anything edible directly. All the napkins, all the paraphernalia helped to fill the space on a vast tabletop fixed for a lone eater.

Above Supreme Leader’s meal a young, stunning woman continued her silent speech – sound recently muted and action betrayed by a corresponding icon. The speaker disregarded restrictions of complicatedly arranged hair and lavish robes in favor of radiating righteousness and power. Ritualistic makeup covered most of her face, but round brown eyes conveyed what needed to be seen. Behind their half-translucent veil burned Supreme Leader’s own gaze, and, for a moment, they were one.

Then, the man folded his lips in an elaborate manner and whistled.

Bizarre. This behavior blindsided Hora, who could only stand there and blink. The whistle was two notes short and got repeated several times over. Supreme Leader glided his untigrav chair from behind the holo’s shelter. This part of the suite was, out of nowhere, top-to-bottom white; the man… stood out, to put it mildly, like an eclipse in a clear sky. He leaned forward in the seat, planting his feet far apart, heavy, and rested the elbows on his knees. “Here, boy,” he said softly, “here-here-here, boy.” Black-clad thumb rubbed circles over his fore- and middle fingers; tongue-clicking followed.

He was calling Hux to heel, like an owner to a dog. Sardonic lilt was absent from his voice, but the faux-gentleness just served to turn it more cutting. Hora risked a look ex-general’s way. He had no outward response, watery gaze fixed on a distant spot near the ceiling.

Supreme Leader quickly grew bored with taunts and speared a cold cut on a dessert fork to shake in the air. “Here, boy. Fetch.” The meat slice flew on an arch and spread out atop white synthaplast – pink, fatless. It landed a step away from Hora’s boots. The man made a speculative hum at Hux’s non-reaction. “What a bad dog. Disobedient.” The “t” came out excessively obstruent. “Showing your muzzle back here, where it doesn’t belong. You’re not allowed indoors anymore.” The air moved behind two visitors after an opening swish. “Leave, or I’ll have to start your training over.”

Hux turned and left. Hora remained, suddenly washed with cold on her right. The degree to which Supreme Leader was unsurprised by the composition of Lady Ren’s delegation was outright chilling.

“Yeoman.” All of Supreme Leader’s attention focused on Hora – gravity coming back on, – and the experience unnerved her. “What news from Lady Ren.”

She wondered if he came to the obvious conclusion already, but couldn’t tell either way. The man consisted of contradictions: with expressive features baring emotions for all to see, he nevertheless remained hard to read – distracting collocutors from motivations with reactions.

The room shrunk and ended abruptly under Hora’s feet. Stuttering, she managed: “H-her ladyship asked that you remove your gloves, s-sir.” Supreme Leader obeyed: first left, then right. Soft leather plopped as it landed. Uninterrupted eye contact made something almost tangible buzz right outside Hora’s forehead. She was the one standing, but he felt taller. Up close, his eyes were pitch-black and wet-looking with all the reflected lights swimming in them. His scar made Hora think of Lady Ren, for whatever reason. There was an echo of her present, a rectangular panel of dove-grey fabric sewn from the left shoulder seam of his doublet down to the middle of the chest. 

As quickly as possible, she detached the hema-scanner, nearly dropped it into Supreme Leader’s large hands, and retreated to safety.

To the day, she knew nothing of what readings the monitor displayed, exactly. It blinked awake, visible beyond the half-turned wide back, but too far to read anything. A thumb caressed across it, interrupting the orange glow. Then, the still active holo speech got overshadowed by an outgoing comm window. The buffering symbol spun for an ugly stretch.

“I apologize for the delay. General Madava’s ready room is quite a jog away,” Lady Ren said, materialized between the water glass and the bread plate.

Her voice lured Supreme Leader closer. Dark eyes swiped up and down the projection. When he talked to his wife, his volume was known to dip ridiculously low, to the point where sentences ended in a garbled, hard-to-comprehend mess. “We won’t have to resort to this archaic nuisance if you just let me back in.”

“You want to talk about that? Let’s talk about that. Reality check, my lord. You can’t demand constant availability from me while shielding when it suits you. I said it before and I’ll say it again: that’s not how _anything_ works.” Lady Ren looked off-range, distant in countless ways, when she quoted: “Ka Yor writes: “In the time of grief I call to you, but you never answer, never come when I need you. You lay my grief to be, and the bleeding reality of it scares you.” You’ve been brought up to date, I presume.” 

On instinct, the man reached to touch, but his fingers stumbled across the thimbles, and he kept picking at the chain between small cups instead. “Ask for anything,” he breathed out, confession-like. 

It was met by cold distrust. “I got what I wanted out of this.”

“That was for trying. This is for succeeding,” a tic tagged at his left lower lid. “Indulge me. Let’s say, an old Alderaanian custom demands it.”

Lady Ren’s frustration sparked: “Oh, is this were I feel bad for you because one of your homeworlds got blown up? By the very same grandfather you worship?” Familiar sadness at continuous mutual misapprehension threw shadow over both their faces. A mirror reaction. Supreme Leader stretched his chin up, jaw moving to settle. “Ask, min gylif,” he repeated. “Rey. Anything-”

“I want the war machine stopped. I want refocused economy and a constitution that actually works,” Lady Ren rapidly fired, sarcasm biting. “I want a parliament, and a referendum for every conquered star system. I want to enter peaceful negotiations with New Republic.”

“-but that,” Supreme Leader concluded, wry, capping her words with rejection.

“Reintroduction is a success,” she said after a silent moment – taking no pride in this achievement, too, though it belonged solely to her. “It’s time for the next step. Release stormtrooper records. And let go those who wish to leave. You promised.”

“And we always fulfill our promises, don’t we.” 

“I fulfilled mine.”

Floor swayed beneath Hora’s feet. Stormtrooper records? Such a thing existed?! There was a database somewhere, a file with answers to every desperate question that ever plagued her? The shape of her native planet, a moon crescent or a ring curve in the sky; the melody of a long-forgotten lullaby, sounds from her parents’ lips forming a chain that belonged solely to her? It was all preserved, compacted in digital prison, waiting to be found?

Supreme Leader had a habit of nodding at the tails of statements, as if whoever he was talking to already agreed with everything presented to them, and this shared agreement had been consequently found most sensible. “You realize it won’t diminish our forces, don’t you? Recruitment will double to fill the niche. Imagine: even more patriotic propaganda with your face in every holo.” 

“It’s not the same. Poor bastards will come by their own choice… to a certain extent, at least.” Lady Ren sighed, fight going out of her, but tension remaining. She didn’t enjoy being present and talking to her husband, unpleasantness spelled in avoidance of direct looks. She skimmed Supreme Leader’s surroundings and stopped at the scanner still in his fingers. More dried flakes came off from the device’s panel to mar his naked skin with rusty brown. “That’s literally Garmoid blood on your hands, by the way.”

The man started at the long-awaited jab and fired back: “Do you want me to regret an effective prevention of a strenuous civil war? I simply contained the losses-”

Lady Ren, zero hesitation shown, disconnected.

“-to build societies free from want and fear,” the holo went on as it popped back to the front automatically, sound restored. “Concepts such as truth, justice, and compassion cannot be dismissed as trite when these are often the only bulwarks which stand against ruthless power.*” Roaring applause answered the young orator when she raised her chin, neck proudly – and familiar, somehow – stretched.

A loud crunch interrupted her triumph – the holo projector, shattered by an invisible hand. Supreme Leader cautiously placed the scanner on a service cart nearby and stood up, face inert like a second before explosion. Next, the whole dining getup went flying, hurled by a swipe of an angry hand. Thin moans of shuttering glassware and tinkles of jumping utensils reverberated through the air. The man swirled in desperate search for more wreckage, but his searing gaze found only Hora. “Get out of my sight,” he spat.

She didn’t need to be told twice; Lady Ren’s business here was concluded. She started backpedaling. Before she reached the door, however, it opened, and the worst came to be. General Tadrina Hitrys walked in.

Every gap of Hux’s personality time and experience patched in the foreboding woman. General entered service during Emperor Palpatine’s reign, same as General Madava. Rumors had it she long disliked Hux, an upstart who outpaced her, prior to discovering his nefarious plot. No one stood in her way; not for long. She was ruthless ever since she came to power three and a half years ago. Hora had personally witnessed the executions on the parade deck short after that promotion: lower-tier plotters had gotten simple blaster shots, while Hux’s inner circle had been saddled with plasma scythe. General Hitrys wielded the thing herself, its fizzing lightblade purplish white – the same hue as the woman’s short hair.

“Supreme Leader, sir!” She saluted and bludgeoned on, not bothered by absent permission: “Word got out that Armitage Hux is wandering around my ship. Good thing I was already on the way to discuss Ortooine.”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” he bit back between deep breaths – known remedy to quiet one’s temper. “Ortooine is the face of Lady Ren’s educational effort. It’s off-limits.”

General nodded in acceptance so rapid it was clearly fake, and drew an inviting curve with her hand. Following its trajectory, Hux was flung through the doorway by a pair of bureau agents. Hora barely managed to jump aside. Collision with the floor extracted a painful “oomph!” out of the man, and inertia dragged him several meters. He stopped a safe distance away from any shards, but with his face touching the meat slice previously used to mock him.

“However, there’s still _this_.” The gestures, Hora remembered. The gestures were the eeriest part. Those were misplaced dancer’s moves. General’s hands became machaons that folded and bloomed the way Hora had seen during a raid once: giant insects with shimmering, trembling wings and fragile legs scavenged on fatal wounds of the fallen. “You knew you would never leave if you stepped on board again, silly boy. High treason is punishable by summary execution. So, whenever Supreme Leader’s ready,” head half-turned, she pointed over the shoulder towards her agents and their charged blasters.

The chair slid slightly backwards under Supreme Leader’s weight when he collapsed, exhausted, lifeless arms hanging in the v of his spread thighs. His shoulders visibly lifted and fell, but he appeared calmer already. Big round eyes, elongated cat-like at the inner corners, made him look younger than reality. He moved his head, pointing with gaze and chin at an arrangement of imagined facts. “Can’t you see this is a test? Aren’t you supposed to be the strategist?”

“Sir?”

“Hux is a part of Lady Ren’s team, a refugee under her protection. _Mercy_ is an asylum vessel, and he asked for sanctuary. She’s testing us. After Garmuda.”

General fanned her fingers out to encompass their surroundings. “This isn’t _Mercy_ , Lady Ren’s authority doesn’t extend here.”

Supreme Leader leaned forward, almost folding in half, and glared from under his brow. Exaggerated enunciation was back. “Lady Ren’s authority extends over me, and my word is law for you to obey. So obey. It.” He sat straighter, returning to soft murmurs. “We don’t want her ladyship to go ballistic.”

“With all due respect, sir, that’s nothing we haven’t handled before.”

“Before, she had no leverage. But you kept pushing, and pushing, and now she does.”

General smiled with excitement coolly met: “Oh, does she?!” 

“The delegation will leave as they came. You’re dismissed.”

Again, General’s compliance came too easy. “Sir! Yes, sir! Allow me to extend sincerest congratulations to you and her ladyship.”

Hux, himself spread in a heap like a piece of meat and calm about the discussed execution, lifted his head at that, scowl severe. One sunken cheek glistened with moisture that transferred from food. Hora tugged him to a standing position, obeying Supreme Leader’s finger snap, and together they practically loped outside. General Hitrys’s men were just turning the corner further down the otherwise empty gangway.

“She dismissed our escort,” Hux explained.

“Let’s get to the shuttle, please,” Hora begged. Leaving Supreme Leader’s presence was akin to finally turning away from a supernova. Exhaustion spilled down her spine. “I don’t remember the way exactly.”

Hux began walking in shuffling steps, no effort made to match her frantic speed. She slowed down, irritated that necessity bound her to do so.

“Lady Ren…” Hux suddenly said. “Is she p-”

What a moron! Hora slapped him across the chest with the back of her hand and all the strength she could master. “Shut up! She has Health Issues!” Seriously!

“Health Issues. Of course. Was that- During the Kaliassi Talks-”

She could only mutely goggle in disbelief. “You’ve lost your mind if you think I’ll discuss any private details with you!” Hora sped up, and now the embarrassed man hurried to follow. They took off in a direction opposite to the bureau agents, and another empty gangway met them. Hora could’ve sworn there was a post here earlier. Suspicious. But the following turn finally revealed a death trooper, so she paid it no mind. Something else was bothering her, anyway. “Why would Lady Ren send you along? She must’ve known about the danger. Doesn’t seem like her…”

“Hora!”

It was funny how dear features could never be really erased from a person’s soul. Time might have blurred lines and dots, but deep recognition flooded the heart with joy despite it. “Lili?!” Hora exclaimed, gawking in astonishment at the death trooper with her helmet off. “I can’t believe it!”

She met her friend in the middle with a bone-crushing hug. Sharp-edged armor dug into her soft parts, but she didn’t care. Lili smelled the same as Hora remembered, of disinfectant showers and harsh laundry powder. Her hair held the style she kept favoring after Reintroduction. When personal belongings had been allowed in the barracks, Lili had found a curling sponge of her native culture on one of the bases, and arranged her short coils into neat tufts ever since.

“Hora,” Lili exhaled, breaking the embrace to look her in the eye. They exchanged wide grins, until the warm dark-brown stare slipped. “Wait, is that Traitor Hux?” Hora checked behind her back – the man awkwardly froze a few steps away. She confirmed the guess. “I thought for sure they’d kill him by now.”

“He’s a refugee.” Stars! This couldn’t be happening. “And you’re a death trooper!”

Lili blinked and started laughing. “What? Oh, no. No-no-no. I heard there would be a team from _Mercy_ coming to Citadel, so I bribed a gal to switch shifts and uniforms. Had to give up a week’s worth of dessert rations! Thought maybe someone knew something about you.” Joy outshone all nervous residue from the mission. Files or no files, names or not, there were people in this galaxy who cared about Hora. Lili palmed her nape roughly. “But here you are! How are you? What’s your assignment?”

“The same: I’m a yeoman, but, Lili!” Another grin tagged at her lips. “I’m a yeoman to Lady Ren!”

“No way! Min Gylif!” Lili’s eyes opened wide as she gasped, but hesitation soon followed. A childhood habit of chewing on her lush lower lip gave it away. “Is she… Hora. Is she real?”

Same holos that broadcasted Lady Ren’s open smiles and kind actions also painted Supreme Leader as stoic, composed, assured… which most on _Supremacy_ knew to be false. Hora took Lili’s hands and squeezed the fingers. She would’ve probably lied if she had to, to spare the hope, the faith of another. But there was no need. “Yes. She’s real. She’s even better in life than they paint her! You wouldn’t believe. She knows my name, and never looks for the numbers, and she can heal, and I’ll tell her about you!” Why hasn’t she already? Stupid! Here Lily was, worrying, breaking regulations for her, and all Hora did was speculate on her friend’s fate deep at night.

“That’s fine,” Lily giggled, “I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble. I’m just happy to see you’re alright.”

“Are _you_ alright?”

“Never better. Now, we should really move on. My intercom is off, but General swiped through here sniffing for blood not too long ago. If she gets a waft of any of this, we’re done for.” Black plastic lowered over her head, and the trio marched forth. Hux and Lily measured one another up and cranked ignore to the maximum, amusing Hora to no end. With an old friend by her side, she let assurance push out any worries. That was a mistake, of course.

“Have you ever heard the phrase, “better ask for forgiveness than for permission”?” Hux calmly inquired after they came to a halt. Down the gangway, a group of agents was clearly waiting for them. The four didn’t belong to General Hitrys’s entourage, but they belonged to her bureau, and that was all that mattered. They stood differently from soldiers; slouched and leaned against walls the way a group of friends would while chatting in an alley. “You should leave. Your friend will guide you to the shuttle. They’re here for me.”

Evidently, ex-general was right. Hora couldn’t see Lili’s reaction under the helmet, but she felt a tag at her sleeve. A little worm of doubt ate through her conscience. Leaving one of her people behind? What would Lady Ren say? But if the woman sent Hux here- The pull grew stronger, making it impossible to not spin in place. Retreat failed, though, when Hora collided with another agent. How stealthy were they? She hasn’t register anyone approaching!

“Don’t make a fuss and you’ll be fine,” the strange woman advised. A baton in her grip hummed impatiently, begging to touch flesh with its charged teeth. “Though you’ll have to explain yourself, bucket head; you were ordered to withdraw from the area.” Her partner observed the proceedings in cold blood and held a very relaxed pose, but it was clear there would be no blowing past him. Hora’s heart jumped to beat a rapid rhythm under her tongue; sweat broke across her forehead following an anxious hot flash. Two armed hostiles were bad enough. Trying to take on six? Impossible. Her blaster wasn’t even off safety. Between unclipping it and aiming, Baton Lady could take down several Horas. And Lily’s well-being was the highest priority here. Hora would never forgive herself if something awful happened to her friend.

There was a dull thud of successfully landed punch: Hux doubled over, his respiratory system incapacitated by a blow. Only his hunched back and some hair were visible as he wheezed. Dull uniform green and a smear of orange against black.

“Neatly now,” someone in the ambush commanded, and their accomplice moved to use his raised weapon.

Creating a disturbed wave in the air, a black smudge blinked past Baton Lady. The weapon – a plasma knife – clanged against the wall and fizzled out. A momentarily commotion died with it: agents slowly unbent from the combat stances they jumped to take. The knife wielder was manipulated to hunch beside his near-victim, arm on a weird angle and so straight it almost trembled with the potential of pain. Supreme Leader had his gloves on again: the agent’s wrenched wrist was drowning in soft leather. He wasn’t even slightly winded after the short maneuver he’d performed, but his black hair broke its tamed wave and curtained one eye off. For a man of such height and mass he was incredibly fast. Hora trained with people his size, and speed usually eluded them; well, that wasn’t the case here. Navigating combat obviously came as an easy, natural thing to the man. He stood there, in a circle of skilled professionals, without a trace of fear, and now Hora was able to see the assured leader intranet kept trying to sell her on.

“Stand down,” Supreme Leader growled. He pushed his pray away as if the captured agent – not a small person, either – weighted literally nothing. “Your General better be at my table in ten minutes.”

The gangway emptied, and Hux, red from asphyxiation, unexpectedly rasped after the receding backs: “She didn’t send me! She doesn’t know I’m here! She didn’t-” The limited breath he regained ran out. 

Supreme Leader tilted his head by a fistful of hair and hissed: “No kidding. Like she would ever.” 

“Just do it, for Kwath’s sake.”

““Kwath’s sake”. You sniff around my wife too much. If you show up here again, you’ll be getting what you came for. Now go.” To Hora and Lili, he added: “Put some parsecs between me and the binti spice. You, escort them to the shuttle.”

As abruptly as he appeared, the man stalked off.

And Hora was done. With this ship, with Hux’s perplexing yet simultaneously boring mysteries. Kriff exploring. Nothing good ever happened to her on _Supremacy_ ; it wasn’t her “home”. If anything, Lili was – and she just proved it would continue to be so, no matter the distance or location. As for ex-general, he could pick literally any other time to go off the rocker, preferably when aforementioned parsecs separated him from Hora as well.

“We _need_ to leave.” Lili’s words broke the trance. They grabbed Hux’s hands, but he shook the help off and started walking with palms pressed to his stomach. Hora checked on her friend, squeezed the plastic protector over her elbow. Alive. Almost safe. 

Further behind, Supreme Leader made a vexed chopping motion with his hand, closed a fist near his hip, and turned back. Not breaking his stride, he grabbed Hora’s shoulder and pushed to move – mildly, to her shock – away from others. She did an awkward backwards hopping thing for a bit, but their walk soon seized. Lost, pulse racing with latest scare, Hora faced the man with what was surely a terrified gaze. Bent over her she found a person she didn’t recognize, not quite; doubt pressed his lips into a tight line and gave the brow a barely noticeable upward tilt. Hair still obscured half his vision, and it seemed weird. Doesn’t it itch, she wondered numbly. 

After several shallow breaths, Supreme Leader asked: “How is she?” It was raw, almost desperate. 

The tangible hold he had on Hora’s right shoulder brought a vivid image to the surface of her mind: Lady Ren’s forehead resting in same exact spot, her tired body shaking as she cried in that dim-lit container on Garmuda, amidst death and destruction, absolutely heartbroken. 

The man recoiled, roamed Hora’s face with his eyes for a second, and fled without an answer. 

***

For such a freaky day (and for getting roughed up twice), Hux was way too talkative. Post-adrenaline jitters, probably. He tried to pull at various conversational strings during shuttle flight, until one provoked a reaction. “Lili, huh? No way a trooper with LL-0909 designation existed. She’d end up on _Tarkin_ , with Tarkin Junior and his creepy collection of prettily numbered-”

Hora pointed at a chrono above the opposite bench. Lunch hour was so beyond over. Hux’s attention went there and stuck to it. Embarking on this journey, he probably thought he’d never have to pay attention to time ever again.

“That’s her real name. She actually remembers things from before she was taken,” Hora explained in the end, just because. “Remembers her parents, too.”

General Armitage Hux always took great pride in First Order’s stormtrooper program.

Back on _Mercy_ , in the docking bay, they were personally met by Lady Ren. Judging by a stack of cards on a makeshift table – battery blocks pushed together – their arrival interrupted her game of drown-the-tauntaun with soldiers on shift. She let Hora and Hux approach and simply _looked_ at the latter. He returned it and, block after block, just… crumbled.

General Armitage Hux only came undone for First Order’s glorious triumphs.

He turned out to be an ugly crier – in that way people with nowhere left to hide were. Veins on his neck bulged, and above them a mouth made a distorted “o” of trembling lips. Every heave sounded painful and sticky, lungs laboring for oxygen while tears, snot, and saliva streamed down Hux’s face. He remained ramrod straight, clawing at his temples. Lady Ren didn’t try to console him… didn’t try to deny him. She stood there, hands folded patiently in front of her, and accepted the breakdown without sympathy, baring witness to his storm. It was more than many had or could ask for. Hora felt uncomfortable being so close to such intense emotions. Soldiers relocated their bets elsewhere, even praetorian guards’ helms rotated to the side a bit. Not Lady Ren. The same regality from this morning clang to her and helped to preserve respectful distance, served as shield from embarrassment or distress. She was _above_ , the leader here, and nothing she accepted was able to stain her.

“Down there- All those people. All those people!” Hux gurgled. 

Hora imagined him crying like that at night, digging what was essentially an enormous grave with a shovel in his bleeding grip. In her previous life she rarely considered what an orbital strike did to a planet. She’d participated in localized raids, but the scale couldn’t compare, even with air support from TIEs. When Fleet carried out a successful mission, she celebrated alongside everybody; jumped during standing ovations after newsreels. She didn’t analyze her feelings on the matter now, following Lady Ren’s suggestion – and she was fine. She had also never ordered any attack into existence.

General Armitage Hux had.

“I would do anything… anything to-” he babbled when the weeping subdued to a point.

“Well, for now, it looks like the only thing you can do is live with it,” Lady Ren said. “Hora, my friend, come. We have work to do.”

General Armitage Hux, proclaimed the dog tags. They fell out of an unsealed envelope. Hora forgot about the favor until it slipped her pocket when she was changing before bed. She picked the envelope up, scooping to allow the shiny metal pendants to slide inside again, and hid it in the desk drawer to be dealt with later.

***

The server kept denying her access. She re-entered latest security code for what felt like a hundredth time – to no avail. It would be wise to admit defeat. But not on the bridge, in front of General Madava, and that snobby analyst Taj Lynn, and everyone who continued conversing over her head. How would it reflect on her professional image, to beg for- There was a mistype in her login. Of course. It was composed from the user’s personal code and the assigned service location – vessel, in Hora’s case – as addendum. She sometimes forgot and typed in _Supremacy_ ’s “02”, when “01” was now the correct option.

“Critical core malfunction,” the bridge alert informed in its unfitting pleasant lilt. “Critical core malfunction. Complete shutdown required.”

Hora jerked away from the intranet in time to meet darkness and the following kick-in of secondary generators. Red glow slowly sparked and died on repeat – ship’s sluggish beating heart. The holopad on her knees shined on, unaffected, and in the sphere of light it cast she saw Lady Ren and General in their chairs, composed overall, yet with a bit of tension between them. No situation of any kind was announced, so it was probably nothing, right? Glitches happened in space regularly, Hora experienced it first-hand. The protocol dictated calm retreat towards evacuation pods, no big deal.

Still, the bridge crew acted like there was no deal _at all_. 

“We should-” she started, but General shushed her and activated the announcement system.

“Prepare for zero gravity. _Mercy_ , I repeat: prepare for zero gravity.”

What.

A loud bang, heavily echoed, emanated through the space as rows of walking brackets popped out in the middle of every walkway and corresponding ceiling. Around Hora officers started strapping in their seats, General included. Lady Ren ignored precautions as usual, but pointed at Hora’s midsection in silent order she harried to obey.

“Now,” General said when preparations were finished. “On three, right.”

Both women got their master keys, strung pendant-like from chains. As countdown concluded, those were slotted into the override panel – an underlit oval in the command chair’s handle. Fingerprint recognition pinged, and the whole colossal – yet, absurdly, fragile – shell that separated crew and passengers from horrendous demise died under a flick of a wrist.

The deep stillness of surrounding metal was unnatural, but even weirder was the feeling of gravity leaving; a sense of falling. Taj Lynn’s braids were sleepy snakes, floating around her head. Hora’s own legs started lifting, and it took a conscious effort to keep them in place; the holopad, she had to squeeze between them. She felt her ribcage and stomach expanding, and softer bits of her face seemed (falsely) like they were swelling up. Lady Ren sat, an embodiment of patience, herself intact but with pleated flare skirt moving on a gentle wave around her ankles. Its sluggish dance distracted Hora, so when a Rebel Star Cruiser swam into the viewport’s frame, blindingly bright on the canvas of deep space, she missed it at first.

Then, dread prickled at her solar plexus and armpits, the illusion of falling overtaking her thoughts.

Half of Hora’s original unit was dead, perished under Rebel bombs. _Mercy_ would be bombed, too. No. First, X-wings would destroy their defenses in a suicidal fit. Was there a ploy, a traitor on board, someone who caused the core malfunction? Or were they already infiltrated, and could expect an armed group storming the quarters? Hora tried to listen for far-off whines of blasters. Rebels were obviously after Lady Ren. Hora already knew the woman well enough to determine she wouldn’t be pried away from her people. But, maybe, if the Health Issues card was played right- Why weren’t the big dumb red cans doing anything! And she could neither fight nor run properly under such conditions!

“Hora,” Lady Ren called out. “Don’t be afraid, please. No one is getting bombed.”

General Madava also turned, startled. “Oh, Yeoman. Yes. Be a dear, settle down.”

Cruiser’s prolonged ghost glided perpendicular to them, overtaking more and more of the viewport. It threw dispelled light inside the bridge, illuminating everything to an eerie half-visible degree. The sleek shape reflected in Lady Ren’s eyes, and they sparkled with perplexing joy. The woman closed them, breathing in deep; she did the same at the start of every meditation session.

Hora tried to adopt her calm, stretch its blanket over herself. Lady Ren, meanwhile, concentrated hard; she held her attention to a point, held it… and smiled. Tender; tender and warm, a present to an old friend. But only for a moment.

In quick succession, Lady Ren’s eyes flew open, Star Cruiser jumped to a destination unknown, and _Mercy_ woke up with a smooth roar, every last light panel flaring up. Gravity closed its maw atop everything, crashing all under the pull. Colorful plastic beads at the ends of Taj Lynn’s braids clattered against each other melodically. Little things like pens and comlinks that floated during the swift spell scattered as they landed, and internal organs, by the feeling of it, hung on bones as rags. Someone oof-ed.

“Reboot complete. All systems online and functioning. Commencing full scan. Commencing full scan.”

“Atta girl!” General Madava slapped her thigh.

“All data from the past half-hour is lost, my lady,” Taj Lynn announced cheerfully.

Lady Ren laughed as she put the master key over her head, and blinked at Hora. “Oh,” she said. “What a shame.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *excerpt from a political speech “Freedom from Fear” delivered by Aung San Suu Kyi, 1990. Aung San Suu Kyi is a Burmese opposition leader who spent many years under house arrest, finally being freed in 2011. She was elected to the Burmese parliament in the recent elections. **UPD:** Please note that the civilian leader, unfortunately, failed to “condemn and stop the military’s brutal campaign” against the Rohingya minority in Myanmar. You can read personal stories of Rohingya on Humans Of New York [blog.](http://www.humansofnewyork.com/post/171594811816/they-didnt-say-a-word-they-just-started-firing)


	4. Self-Inflicted, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All roads lead back to ~~Jakku~~ beginnings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This puffed out like a- like a- a pufferfish! A two-parter turned three-parter, now the whole thing is a chapter longer. Fudge. Kriff. What's up with that.
> 
> This is so long, you guys. I'm sorry.
> 
> As usual, **mind the tags!**

  
To be your light-haired little fellow  
Oh, through all years!  
Apprentice, draped behind your dusty purple  
In cloak austere.

To catch through people's density your sigh  
That life does give;  
My soul alive by your breath, like a cloak  
By gusting wind.

And more triumphant than King David, with a shoulder  
The crowd to move.  
To serve from every slight, all earthly slights  
As cloak to you.

To be he who between the sleeping students  
In sleep won't dream.  
A shield, and not a cloak, at the first stone  
That crowd brought in.

(This verse, not haltered willfully! This knife  
Sharp to no end!)  
And - with inspired smile - be the first your  
Pyre to ascend.*

***

There was a revolting noise of someone gathering saliva and phlegm in their mouth, and then that someone spat in Hux’s face. It splattered the side of his pale nose and the inner corner of one eye, which squeezed shut on reflex. Viscous substance was everywhere, covered the lashes, and started sliding slowly down towards the corner of Hux’s lips.

Hora studied the post-lunch crowd in slight shock. An orange-skinned scientist in uniform lab coat was waving her tentacles in the air. Deep-green stripes of pigment flashing up her face served as intimidation signal; luckily, several friends were holding her in place, shielding Hux from view.

“When I exit this Hand of Orna and enter Her next one,” she bellowed with limitless anguish as she was dragged away, “everyone I love will be waiting for me! May there be no one waiting for you, and may you never find them!”

Hora expected ex-general to be done in and bring his customary sizzling anger on the mess hall. Instead, blinking with force to clear his vision, Hux leaned down and picked his dropped rusk. He said nothing and never looked around; he didn’t wipe his face. Inert gawkers dissipated quickly, an air of pitying amusement left behind. 

This was kind of new. Working conditions made it so that Hora and Hux shared lunch on semi-regular basis, and, of course, she had noticed a rather cool reception he got everywhere he went. Outright attacks never happened before, though. He was mostly ignored as just another working cog of the great machine. Everyone had their tasks; there was little time left to spend on fallen greats. And… as much as crew and passengers were ready to give their lives for Lady Ren, Hora doubted same courtesy extended to her husband. Yes, Hux was a traitor, a plotter who once planned to overthrow Supreme Leader. But, by all estimates, on _Mercy_ that should have earned him popularity, not scorn. Certainly a friend or two. Even if he fled persecution and abandoned his supporters for slaughter.

“You…” Hora trailed off, at loss for words. What could be said? 

Hux pocketed the rusk with care and continued down the usual rout to where their paths parted, picking at his palm – his wounds finally healed, shedding old skin.

***

Either pregnancy hormones in general or nausea specifically gifted Lady Ren with excessive energy. Too much energy for a mortal yeoman to handle. The woman zoomed all over the ship and filled her suite with unfinished projects. Which wouldn’t present a problem – Hora usually just cleaned messes up – except her ladyship was the type to return to said projects. She had a mysterious system, too, so any interruption slowed her rhythm and brought on sluggishness and gloom. In the end, Hora and Hux let the clutter fester and take over. Lady Ren navigated the maze easily – what more was there to wish for. Others could survive constant tripping into bruises and scratches.

Mid-day meal hours away, it was the time slot of Speeder Motor Number Four, closely followed-slash-conjoined with Droid Number Two. Sad leftovers of a BB unit stood abandoned. Hora checked and found a pair of pants-clad legs sticking out from under a speeder frame. The piece of junk was equal parts burnt and rusted.

“I come bearing cakes, my lady,” she called out. The “cakes” were simply waterbread buns with some vitamins and additional plant protein mixed into the polystarch. They did wonders to relieve Lady Ren’s morning sickness. “Also, TOX-2.”

Many droids on _Mercy_ owed their prolonged lifespan to Lady Ren’s practicality and skill with tools, so they loved her – no other word for it. She returned this affection, even if her creations were little more than heaps of combined salvage held together by ingenuity alone. Few had paint or polish jobs but all were decorated by soldering seams. “I like scars,” their savior liked to repeat fondly.

TOX-2 used to be a deep space chaser in its previous life, but a bulky processor box from… from elsewhere long since replaced the original glossy corpus. A big sensor lens and a heap of tentacles adorned the opposite ends of it, and the droid swam through the air on its antigrav drive like a creepy sea creature. It had a new assignment down at the docks, and came straight from the shift to present “something extremely important” to Lady Ren.

The something in question stared at Hora with black round eyes. It consisted of a white round tummy and a puffy feathery frame, and was pretty loud and unruly to boot, so she let TOX-2 carry the creature in its grapples.

“Toxie! What’s going on?” Lady Ren shoved her heals against the ground to roll the mechanic’s creeper from underneath the speeder. She had black grease smudges down her neck and a broken screw in one hand. As TOX-2 trilled in First Order audio cypher, she set up and made an outraged grimace. While droid demonstrated its wriggling find, the woman gave herself a push and smoothly rode the creeper closer with dramatic hands in the air.

“How?!” She bellowed at the fluffy ball, cry full of torment. The ball dutifully screeched back.

“Um… my lady?”

Lady Ren extracted the creature from metallic cables and gathered it close to her chest, letting the tiny teeth sink into her piece of scrap. “It’s my punishment for infesting the galaxy with you lot. The world will never be free of this pain. No, it won’t,” she outright cooed at it, before thrusting the thing back at TOX-2. “Nice job, Toxie! Drop it off at medbay, make sure it’s healthy and _sterilized_. Then,” she offered Hora a mischievous smile, “give it to Yeoman here. It’ll be her “welcome to the family” present.”

“I’m-”

“It’s a porg,” Lady Ren explained. “You’ll have to name it.”

Hora has never named anything in her life. Or taken care of anything alive, really. Well. Except for Donta. And Lady Ren. 

She looked at her new porg. The porg screamed bloody murder.

“Don’t stress over it. Just come up with a silly name. I named my last one Sock, because he smelled funny. Oh, cakes!” Lady Ren snatched one, stuffed it all the way inside her mouth, reclined back and propelled the creeper, rocket-like, under the speeder.

“My lady? May I ask you something?”

“Is it about the yearly overview? Because I told you already, it’s too sad to thi-”.

“Someone spat at Hux today.”

“Hm-m-m. Give me the torque wrench?” One hand dove out and made a grabbing motion.

After consulting the intranet, Hora identified the delicate tool amidst the mayhem in the toolbox. She sat on the floor, leaning on the speeder, and let the metal cool her back. The machinery smell down here was comforting. Lady Ren sounded muffled because of the vehicle’s bulk above her, but the conversation could freely continue anyway. 

“Must have been a Hosnian,” she said.

“Hosnian? As in, Hosnian system, the New Republic’s fallen stronghold?”

A pause. “Remember Starkiller?”

“Yes. Donta and I were thrown around Parlemian Route for a while fundraising for it.”

“See.” Lady Ren sighed. “In cases like this, if one starts digging, everyone is at fault. The dreaded silent majority kills again. That’s why the blame usually falls on chosen few. The masterminds. They couldn’t have done it alone, but nothing would’ve gotten done without them. Oil-filter wrench?” Hora knew that one by now. “And since Snoke is dead, the genocidal tyrant we’re left with is Armitage Hux. Who’s personally responsible for the deaths of thirty billion people.” Lady Ren pushed the creeper out to look at Hora. “He killed them. Consciously. In cold blood.”

What a strange rhetoric. Since the bizarre run-in with Rebel cruiser, half-forgotten pain stirred anew in Hora’s heart. Killed? In cold blood? Wasn’t that the nature of war? First Order did what it had to. _They_ did what they had to. _She_ did, and Lili did. Everyone was up in arms about the Hosnian system now that Stakiller base and its intimidating factor perished: Core turned their noses in passive distaste, the rest of galaxy spewed curses – literally, as it turned out. She’d seen the holos. And… Hora was angry, all of a sudden. Very angry. Because, what about _Manumitter_? _Zenith_ , _Commencement_? Kalvia station? The Starkiller base itself? Weren’t all those people killed in cold blood, as well?

“It had to be done!” She snapped, shout surprising even to her own ears.

Lady Ren asked patiently, same she would address a student: “Why?” 

“To win!” 

Something wasn’t right. Hora didn’t think along those lines, typically. She never craved some nebulous victories. She wanted her friends, her unit to stay alive and safe. And Lady Ren smiled at her sadly in clear understanding of this.

“And what have you won? The war is still raging. There’s still New Republic. Resistance is stronger than ever. The only difference is that thirty billion people are dead.”

“ _We_ won! You are First Order, too!” Scared by the outburst, Hora hugged her knees and hunched over them, expecting chastisement. Maybe punishment. For speaking out of line, for breaking rank. She admired Lady Ren, adored her the way droids did. With how friendly the woman was, it was easy to forget, sometimes, that they weren’t actually equal.

“Please, see this for what it is. Not a conflict on interpersonal level. Not an individual critique or attack on you, and not an attempt to diminish your pain or losses. But acknowledgment of a horrible system, oppressing system. Which you are a part of not by your own free will, let me remind you. First Order took you, forcibly, from your home – same as all the friends you mourn. Doesn’t it make them complicit? Just as guilty as the Resistance? More, maybe, if we take into consideration that First Order is the aggressor, the invader? The one to have rekindled old battles again?

“And yes, I am First Order, too. But I think that all war, any war is wrong. And since I hold certain privilege, I’m using it to make the system fit my values, and not let it change _me_ to fit, as it forced others. For their sake as much as mine.” Lady Ren’s hands were filthy, so she opted for poking Hora’s thigh with an elbow. “It’s all right if you’re upset or don’t know how to feel. And we _are_ equal. I don’t call you my friend for nothing.”

Obliging the sentiment, Hora’s anger died down. Lady Ren was right. Hora spent more than twenty years away from an elusive home, was made to find it in others, but grief burned just as strong in her adult heart as it did once in a crying child. And she never wanted for thirty billion Hosnians to die; she had simply been prevented from perceiving them as anything more than “enemy”, from comprehending the volume of such loss. She imagined her own grief and anger multiplied by an absolution, and was overwhelmed by a sense of deep unity and sympathy towards Hux’s attacker. No doubt, the scientist wanted her loved ones alive and safe, as well… but they were long dead.

Lady Ren observed these revelations as they settled over Hora’s heart. She proceeded: “He’s not a good man, Armitage. Even if he had since realized the enormity of his crimes. They are still not really mine to absolve, but there’s no one else. This ship is my biggest achievement, my pride. Because it’s a sanctuary. For all. No exceptions. And, like a doctor, I have to carry my duty without turning anyone away – Hux included. Absolute penance requires absolute forgiveness. As he must repent and never justify his past actions, so as I must never bring up the past to wound him with it.” 

“He’s in love with you,” Hora’s brain decided to inform.

She knew what that looked like. Plenty in her squad struggled with romantic feelings towards a comrade or someone from another unit – strictly prohibited, of course.

An old shirt Shimmii always tried to burn but Lady Ren repeatedly saved “just in case” was hanging from an exhaust grate. The woman reached to take it and began wiping stains from her skin. “All of Armitage’s punishments are self-inflicted,” she said, choosing each word carefully. “No one has the right to ask survivors to forgive him, not even me – not that I would. They respect my authority enough to follow the sanctuary laws, but he had to be assigned to my team for safety regardless, and it stuck. All of Armitage’s restrictions: the labor, the vow, the diet… He chose it all for himself. No tribunal or authority ever punished him. I decided it was better to let him pick; he needs it to cope, I think. What other punishments are there, I know not. He behaves. The rest concerns me little.” 

Hora mulled it over. Hux was always pretty obvious in regards to where his loyalties belonged, no additional input needed. He had been the one to stay up all night and discover the right polystarch-to-protein ratio for Lady Ren’s illness, even. And her ladyship observed him for years. He was no doubt transparent to her.

“He used to be so devoted to Supreme Leader’s chair. A true patriot. How come he one day just up and. Changed his mind?”

“Something happened to do it for him. He was only devoted to power, prior.” Lady Ren offered her newly clean hand to Hora, tentative tilt to her brows. “I could show you? The process won’t hurt.” To accept was easier than expected. The woman’s callused hold fell lightly on Hora’s skin. After biting the corner of her mouth, she added: “If you don’t hate me after, my friend… please, call me Rey.”

***

Ben’s gloveless thumbs are on her cheekbones, rubbing small circles with rough pads. His palms and fingers are cradling her neck, her nape. The touch is wide and feverishly hot, branding her. His red mouth keeps moving, lips pressing together and separating again to take their soft shape.

“It’ll be over in a flash. Breathe with me, Rey.”

She’s not really crying anymore, her eyes are just constantly wet and overflow as they please. She’s looking up at him, at the dark marks above his left brow, at her scar, faded to a shadow. She’s looking at his frustration. Now that he knows she’s not here to be his student, or his port worker, or a yes-man that stands in the corner silently, he doesn’t know what to do with her. What to say. He wants to spare her the trauma, that much she sees. He’s familiar with such pain; he would prefer she not be.

“Ben,” she exhales with all the desperation boiling up inside. “Ben, please, don’t do this. Please, don’t.”

Sometimes, he listens. This time, he’s overfilled with sympathy for her, but resolve is in the forefront of his mind. “General, order _Zenith_ to fire as soon as they’re ready.”

“No!” She screams. She grabs fistfuls of Ben’s sleeves, right over the shoulders, and pulls down and towards herself, practically hanging on him. He buckles, but only physically; palms her elbows to stay upright.

“Carry on, General.”

“No!” She escapes Ben’s arms. Hux is also on the walkway, closer to the viewport, rolling eyes at them as if at a pair of bothersome squabbling children – he’s been doing it more and more these past months. She yells at him: “No!”

Unmoved by the plea, he turns away to nod Ben’s sentence into existence. And she has had enough.

Why would the royal family flee on a yacht is beyond her. But that’s what they chose for evacuating Arentalin: a big, dumb, slow chunk of needless wealth with strong shields, yet barely a nominal weapon in sight. They have to warm their hyperdrive for minutes at a time, too. It has the atrociously wasteful open atmospheric deck, complete with over-the-edge waterfall – resource drain, right there. One would think, they would’ve switched to something more maneuverable once corroboration with the Resistance came into play. But no.

She takes the view in. In. Deeper. Closes her eyes. There it is: somewhere farther away, an astral cradle – dust stirring, colliding. Closer, the pull of the dual star; Aren-Talin-Aren-Talin, stuck in their finite twist. Closer still: a necklace of asteroids; the planet itself, clutching at its three moons like a parent at their unruly brood. And, finally, the yacht in a dueling standoff with _Zenith_ , grains of ephemeral warmth in apathetic vastness.

The yacht is alight with life. That’s why. They were trying to evacuate as many citizens as possible from under the First Order’s fist – the vessel chosen simply had the largest capacity. Safety evaded them by merely ten minutes.

She concentrates on _Zenith_.

“Rey,” Ben sounds the way he does when _that_ expression overtakes his face. The one he stretches waiting hands at her with, the one he pleads with.

“There are civilians on that ship!”

“Hostages. Live shield. We won’t negotiate with terrorists. If they wanted their subjects safe, they should’ve left them planetside.” To get invaded, goes unsaid.

Gradually, the weight of the Star Destroyer lets her explore it, know it; it answers the call. It’s brimming with vibrations small and larger, and the only thing left is to find where death resonates along. She’s almost got it when Ben’s energy slams into hers, derailing the effort. But then again, she expected nothing less.

Ben’s Force signature is a warm ocean she wants to rest in forever, except sometimes its waters turn black and viscous, a pit of tar with barbs at the bottom. That’s if she looks _out_. When she turns inside her mind, to that place where he rests permanently, he’s this small spot, hot to the touch as his hands had been against her skin.

His eyes go wide. “Rey. What are you do-”

They’ve been trying to shield, experimenting discreetly when the other’s asleep, unable to hide the fact after. Efforts yielded insignificant progress so far and require a buffer period to center oneself. He has none. She sinks tendrils into that Ben-place and _yanks_ , tags with all her strength; keeps pulling until white-hot agony makes it impossible to go on. There’s a hoarse scream in the air: he clutches at his head, kneeling. It hurts; she knows it does. The pain is sloshing between them, from one vial to another. But she braced herself, and she stays upright. The bond won’t break, and she now has a sufficient window to act.

 _Supremacy_ ’s bridge is animated with distress, officers shouting and moaning, droids in alarm. Every equipment piece that’s not bolted or fused down is rattling. Either she or Ben is projecting, and it’s unclear who’s responsible for the outburst. She only holds enough awareness to reach for _Zenith_ again – this round a success.

Ben soon overcomes the shock. Crawls, stands up poorly, keeling to one side. He’s given up the attempts to stop her; in raw power, they’re equal. He knows he won’t be able to shake off her hold on the ship once it’s established. He marches to her side and extends his own hand. Arentalin yacht is almost charged, and those kriffers better be ready to jump the moment it’s done. The struggle can’t go on for much longer.

She’s not sure what exactly she’s doing with _Zenith_ ’s accelerators and gun towers as she tries to stop that fatal reverberation she sensed, but Ben starts on the opposite, coaxing every particle back into movement. Her jaw hurts, she’s squeezing her molars so tight together. Sweat drops are trickling down the sides of her face. She growls from the core, a primal sound to will her way. Ben is deathly pale in her peripheral vision, his cheeks puffing with effort and hand noticeably unsteady.

“Cut it out, you two!” Hux is screaming at them. “Whatever it is you’re doing, desist!”

They don’t listen. At some point, slowing down versus accelerating becomes stopping versus setting in motion, contrast escalated to totality of white and black. The Force is an eerie storm between them, and along the meeting seam where the roar is loudest balance is conceived. They are one.

“Rey, wait,” Ben gasps abruptly just as _Zenith_ explodes right before their eyes – a fire flower blooming then immediately collapsing on itself.

Everybody on board is dead within five seconds.

No exceptions. They burn, freeze, succumb to decompression and contusions – and not without realizing it, either. She and Ben, connection unbroken, feel every last one. Pain slams into him in a weird retrospective way. _Zenith_ perishes just as Hosnian planets perished just as Alderaan had just as all over the galaxy an end came to an authority once glorious – decades ago. Not all the memories are personal, some are an inheritance of Force visions and, vortex-like, they suck both Ben and her deeper. White noise reins in her head, and red does the same to her vision. Ben has a honed ability to deal with the surplus: it’s fully absorbed and repurposed. But she doesn’t know how to; all she manages is take, take, take until no more _her_ is left. Everything comes spilling out of her splitting head in a boiling torrent.

She screams as she cries, and all around people – unwilling receptacles to the outpour – do the same. Posts abandoned, they crowd the viewport and claw at its transparent shield in futile attempt to touch the debris. It’s their eyes that burst out of skulls, their lungs exploding; their fingers, frozen solid, that shutter; their torn off limbs flying away. They want to help their subordinates, but have no time left to do so. They are desperate to confess their well-concealed love in final moments. They feel a dull relief that half their unit got left behind on a base, stranded by viral infection.

When feedback dissolves, she comes to bent in half and shaking head to toe, fingers clutching at her thighs. She’s hollow, numb. Her nose dots the floor with bloody splotches. Whimpers continue to fly above the bridge. Hux is on hands and knees to her right, gasping, tears streaming down his face – a broken man’s face. Arentalin yacht escaped. Pieces of Star Destroyer are turning into space dust near where it floated.

All those people… all those people. She was, however nominally, their leader, entrusted with their continuous survival. Yet she still subconsciously branded them as _other_ , something to be pitted against. They are all gone. Their potential, ambiguity – forever a certainty now. She would do anything, anything to-

“Happy?” Ben hisses as he stalks the walkway broadwise, anger a hasty dressing for the gaping wound of his being. He’s a much more experienced killer compared to her, but not naturally a sadistic one – no matter that it makes him try harder at times. “Got what you wanted?”

She’s looking up at him and seeing the truth: they can’t be close. Not now. Not like this. Others are suffering for it.

“No,” she rasps. “You promised me a ship. I want my ship.”

His first thought, clearly visible through fallen defenses, is _of course, leaving me, running away-_

***

The vision began fading out of Hora’s head once Hux’s suffering, saturated in unnatural colors for emphasis, had been demonstrated to her. Supreme Leader’s further thoughts were left a mystery as she found herself sitting near a speeder and staring at Lady Ren’s cautious expression. Their clasped hands were sweating in a tight grip.

Hora tore hers free.

“You blew up _Zenith_ ,” she said out loud needlessly.

Lady Ren nodded, hair moving with the motion on the creeper. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. Didn’t know it was possible. It was their broadcasted anguish and my remorse that broke Hux out of his lust for power. You know the rest.” He butchered his mutinous plans, deserted the post. The woman whispered: “I’m so sorry, Hora. For killing those people.”

Hora stood up and left the room.

***

Jakku was infected by life. Life had been brought here like a contagious disease – by war, of all things. Akin to insects on a rotting carcass, locals thrived on carnage of battles long lost. Or won, depending on which part of the holonet one preferred to consult. Survival was hard, with no ground for rot to nourish into resurrection, so sentients were parched for hope. It made the planet an ideal candidate to bear fruit under Lady Ren’s transformative guidance.

First, a military outpost had been established to later become a full-blown base. With soldiers on guard taming the junk lords, a complex for metal processing soon followed. Around it, a town sprouted to house and entertain the workers – with substantial aid from her ladyship’s pocket. Somewhere along the line, First Order received an abundance of manufacturing equipment as unrelated reparation and had been planning to resell, but Lady Ren repurposed the payment. An agency to develop droid models for the plant to bring to life concluded the formation of Niima City.

Since the settlement and its infrastructure had been deemed stable last year, Lady Ren’s educational fund began constructing a facility here, mimicking their first success on Ortooine. The process was still ongoing, but enough got done already to allow for basic housing and education.

 _Mercy_ was here for the opening ceremony. General Hitrys’s bureau was here to take footage of said ceremony.

“All we strive to protect, in one frame!” The director kept gushing as her colleagues wrestled with gear around her. She wouldn’t even quit when Hux, assisting the operators alongside droids, dragged a heavy cable across her toes. “Our future and Min Gylif looking over it. Nothing staged could ever compare!”

“Yes, how wonderful,” Lady Ren echoed. It came out stilted for more reasons than just her lips ordered into stillness by a fussing makeup artist.

The intense recruitment campaign Supreme Leader predicted was about to unfold, leading up to the liberation of individuals who served under “limited intent” – as the official Order documents decided to phrase it. Lady Ren’s team had to tolerate filming crew until the latter got what they wanted, and the relationship between two groups remained rather cool. Even if, following the woman’s lead, open conflicts never got quite enough kindle.

Cool treatment was a bit of a theme this last month.

Today, the camp was set in the front yard of the educational center, warded off from public to make room for final preparations. The architecture blended into surrounding landscape organically, beautiful in a utilitarian way – the design inspired by unterraformed desert planets with actual native cultures and far richer histories. It stood low, half-submerged in sun-heated ground. The thick stone walls, raw and in natural color, retained a pretty comfortable temperature inside. Outside… the gardens were ethically – responsible use of resources above all! – comprised of Jakku flora and attracted questionable Jakku fauna, so degrees climbed to fit the desert it all was. This fact weighted heavily on many among visiting personnel, Hora included. Lady Ren, though, appeared quite happy.

At least the portico threw adequate shade over the waiting crowd. Though nothing could stop scorching winds or the smell of hot rock they brought.

“You still not talking?” Shimmii enquired, nodding towards the makeup chair.

“Of course we’re talking,” Hora answered smoothly. “To do otherwise would be unprofessional.”

“It seems like only yesterday you were all starry-eyed and stuttering, and now look at you!” They trilled, an equivalent of laughter in their species. “Giving Min Gylif the cold shoulder. It bothers her, I can tell.”

“Looks alright to me.”

“It’s the heat. Balm on a desert child’s soul. Why do you think I’m so particular about her dresses,” Shimmii smiled. They were sitting on a large suitcase, letting TOX-2 fan their face with a compact retractable ventilator. “She’s always cold in the black. Your bulky military-grade synthetics are not a substitute for fine wool. The cut has to work, but remain warm, you feel me?”

Hora nodded. She felt something alright; most likely, sweat travelling down her ribcage under the fatigues. Shimmii tugged at her hand with a holopad in it to check the time. Their fingers were a phalange longer than Hora’s, and green-tinted besides. Not as deep as Naann-the-padawan’s or his father, Doctor Rittrr’s, but noticeable. “I hate bureau people. They’re always late.”

As if to spite them, an agent appeared between busy workers. Several were scattered around to observe the proceedings and steer them according to General’s desires. This particular one brought a delivery Shimmii requested.

“Took you long enough,” they huffed and tore the black package away.

Lady Ren’s figure has not visibly changed too much yet, since she was so wiry – some weight got shaved away, if anything, due to morning sickness, – but Shimmii had been preemptively altering her dress cuts bit by bit. “We’ll do it gradually, and no one notices. Too rapid a switch could give the game away,” they had explained. So that’s how more flowy silhouettes with a waist just a tad higher than usual snuck into her ladyship’s wardrobe. Officer wives, freshly settled into their ascetic ensembles to mimic the woman, knew not what to think. Lady Ren was wearing one such dress now, skirt falling in soft folds but a short-sleeved plain bodice as modest as always with its boat neckline.

“Great. Now, this.” Shimmii shook out a swaddle of fabric they extracted from the package. “We have to get an early start on the layering.” It was an officer tunic, large and black, immaculately made and without any insignia, like the wearer walked above such trivialness. Which could only mean one thing.

“Is that Ben- Supreme Leader’s?” Lady Ren bristled.

“The viewer is used to a signature silhouette,” the director piped in. “Is now the right time to experiment?”

But Shimmii’s resolve remained unwavering. “The concept is bureau-approved, of course. Air any grievances with the General.”

Director wasn’t about to dispute that. “On the other hand, it works with the theme. Protection. Supreme Leader’s symbolic presence, sheltering us all! Oh, yes! Beautiful.”

“Aren’t we all lucky,” Lady Ren concluded warily as her makeup was done. “Alright, Shimmii. Do your worst.”

The stylist descended on her with pins and a handy multitool. They secured the baggy garment on the woman’s shoulders before making two vertical incisions along its front, cuts instantly hemmed. “Come on, Highness, thread your hands through.” Lady Ren followed the instruction and proceeded to test the range of movement improvised sleeves provided. The useless original ones hang flatly at her sides; the tunic engulfed her. It really looked like she had caught a chill and had been wrapped up for warmth by a caring hand. “Careful, it’ll dislodge if you twitch too much! Will you be able to take the heat? Want a cooling west?”

“What you waterbags don’t know,” Lady Ren said, playing insolent, “is that when day heat falls, you should dress _up_ to ward it off, not down. Dressing down has no effect when surroundings are higher in temperature than your blood. I only survived here for as long as I did because I listened to good advice.”

It was Hora’s turn to bristle. “Here?”

“Oh, yes. The desert planet where I was made to work for food since age five? This is the one.” Lady Ren explained earnestly, happy Hora addressed her but unwilling to push. She smoothed the front of the tunic down. “I look stupid, don’t I?”

“ _You_ look beautiful,” Hora said honestly. “The rest is for a cause.”

“You’re right. Enough whining. Plus, it’s far easier to hide weapons under here. Wait.” Her arms slithered inside the slots, and the black fabric started moving and adjusting. The arms reappeared. “Here, much better. Let’s go.”

The honorable title of pioneer residents had fallen on Hora’s old acquaintances, the order of amphibian nuns – members of which, she had discovered through paperwork, were Lanai from planet Ahch-To who called themselves Caretakers. Hands folded primly and habits blinding in direct light, they stood in a sea of bright sun hats – their wards of many ages and species. The little girls Hora met on her first day aboard _Mercy_ would find new home here among peers and seniors. As she watched Lady Ren deliver a brief speech from portico steps, they prepared to sing the anthem in excited glee. With pronouns in the text cheekily reversed, it seemed.

The crowd was neat, prepared – mostly soldiers from the base and civilian residents happy to enroll their kids in an organized school. Locals from older days came mostly for the free food and drink, no doubt, but acted welcoming and respectful. Collective desire to be done with formalities and start feasting before fatal noon heat helped things along. The cheerful booming music added to the mood. Children surrounded Lady Ren on the stairs for their performance, two of noticeable Yandajee quintuplets clutching the dangling sleeves of her tunic. Director was probably foaming at the mouth in sheer ecstasy.

Hora felt grateful for the uniform cap shielding her eyes from the harsh sunlight. From sidelines (where the team stood) she could easily observe Lady Ren smiling and swaying with the rhythm to the choir’s butchered Basic. The woman did not correct her behavior for the camera; she had probably already forgotten it was there. Just as before, she appeared slightly uncomfortable around young admirers at first, but melted in no time. She had every right to abandon this hellish place to its downfall, but chose to save it. She wasn’t atoning for previous sins the way Hux did, either, or using her acts to cope with guilt. The guilt was there, inside her, Hora had felt it first-hand, but it wasn’t crippling or distorting. Defining, maybe – in that “next time, I’ll do better” fashion. Lady Ren did what she did because she wanted to help and thought it was right. Hard to imagine how a person could achieve such fortitude and sense of responsibility. They didn’t call her Master for nothing, huh.

And Hora’s heart contained not enough vitriol to keep the grudge going. Truth be told, she had forgiven her lady weeks ago, but kept her distance because it felt like she owed a tribute to _Zenith_ ’s fallen troopers. She, maybe, was a smidge disappointed in herself for not staying more outraged for longer. But she had never had personal contact with anyone on the perished ship; unlike Lady Ren, who became a beautiful presence – someone to know as a person of flesh and blood, not only Min Gylif, a public figure.

So when the anthem ended in applause and steps were yielded to Mother Superior, the principle, Hora hugged her holopad closer to her chest and gathered all the determination available. Shimmii nodded their support when she slunk past, sidestepping praetorian guards to stand at her as of late neglected post – behind Lady Ren’s shoulder.

“Hora?” The woman asked, gaze shifted. Her face was rosy after all the singing and clapping, and she smiled a hopeful smile. Unable to return it due to awkwardness, Hora studied the cobblestones under her boots as she mumbled, “My lady.”

“My friend,” Lady Ren said, “I missed you.”

The buzzing whistle of bluster fire came from behind and above them, and Hora’s body recognized the sound before her mind did. She went rigid and boggle-eyed, absolutely useless, until a bruising push shoved her away. Lady Ren jumped forward so swiftly, it went unregistered by bystanders. She was frowning, one hand raised diagonally in the air to meet a plasma shot. The smudged hatch of glowing blue froze a meter and a half above people’s heads. It twitched in horrifying tiny jumps, as if desperate to kill the distance between death and its target, Force or not. Lady Ren shrugged sharply and moved her body with great vigor; the tunic fell away to reveal a chrome cylinder she clutched in her free hand. The beam of humming light it produced when thumbed on matched the bluish white of blaster plasma.

Response delayed by shock, screaming started deeper in the crowd. A circle of distance security always maintained around Lady Ren made the following possible: she let the charge go and light met light with a sharp sound. Plasma went skywards, neutralized, and immediately a second shot chased after its predecessor – the shooter, however startled, also worked through the shock and attempted a follow-up. Lady Ren’s precise, instinct-guided movements caught it; as they did a third one, which came after a much shorter hesitation. Her biceps bulged against the dress sleeves. The weapon’s blade turned her face aglow, radiant. A warrior of light.

The whole scene unfolded in maybe two seconds.

When Hora could breathe again, heart thumping, her blaster was aimed to cover the woman. Questions swarmed her already loud head: an attempted assassination? An ambush on a larger scale? There was one point of fire so far, high among the naked windows of the building’s unfinished wing. The construction site had been thoroughly checked, top to bottom! It stood _inside_ the protective forcefield erected for the ceremony!

“Where are our snipers?!” Lady Ren shouted, sword trained at the source. One of her scarlet guards was already speeding in the pointed direction, leader to several bureau agents, regular order reinforces, and a chunk of security team. The rest attempted to get Lady Ren squatting amidst their ring of bodies – a task made impossible by her blazing weapon and tendrils of power around. Those were tangible, almost like a strong magnetism. Hora, who fell back to make room, strained her eyes in attempt to find a glimmer, a spark on duracrete skeleton – nothing. Her lightweight short-range pistol would be useless even if she did detect the shooter, but she had to try, regardless.

Comlinks and intercoms crackled and mumbled from every direction. Screaming was bowling over their chirps, now a loud beast out to consume everyone present. The assembly split and went down and to the sides. Not all were soldiers, but many were; most civilians here could call themselves hardened by life – even the youngest. Emergency drills _Mercy_ frequently went through resulted in great success: children knew to cower and seek the closest adult. Groups were running and crawling for shelter, military assisting the panicked. There were Hux and Shimmii, peeking in worry from behind a column. Air rung with tension and harried steps.

“Make sure the kids are safe!” Lady Ren ordered after appraising the situation. “I’m off to track!” 

Protectors failed to stop her from slinking past their barrier. She ran a good twenty meters when a praetorian guard closest to Hora wrestled her blaster away. Hora, too consumed by the distant threat, didn’t expect the close one. And, if she did… not many could hold their own against ruthless, trained killers. A collar of blunt pain, numb and then filling out with intensity, closed around her neck. She was spun around and taken into a chokehold, her spine stretched; sudden suffering too final to think about arms or hands or counteractions. First Order trained their troopers to break free, but all Hora could manage was a meager thought: _an overthrow, then_. That, and a strong urge to warn Lady Ren of the danger, a caution to watch her back.

She had to survive and live on for many years, for many peoples of many worlds.

“Rey!” Flew off Hora’s tongue at full lung capacity.

Rey staggered. Confusion distorted her features. Eyes growing bigger, she let her sword dive and shouted: “What the kriff, Adnis?!”

“Well, I cannot tackle you anymore, can I?! I’ll slice your friend instead, to save your stubborn ass, how about it! Don’t test me!” The guard shouted, too. It came muted through the helmet. Uh, so not an overthrow. Merely drastic measures of tough love. It would be almost forgivable, if it weren’t for the crushed windpipe. “Compose yourself! Come here, and let us do our jobs!” 

Rey glared at her, glared at the center, at dominating agitation. Sure; the fire ceased – sole perpetrator confirmed, – but… This short interruption was enough to ground her in reality. She chewed her lip, surrendered a nod, and started trotting back. Light grey material of the dress plastered over her thighs and flared out behind her in graceful, unsuitable for the occasion waves. The guard disposed Hora into Rey’s arms before taking off, armor clanking.

“Never knew they actually can talk,” Hora exhaled. She, drunk with relief, eyed the remaining pair of guards. The chokehold must have felt worse than it really was, because her voice escaped unscathed.

“They do. Won’t shut up sometimes,” Rey answered. Breathing elevated and updo less orderly after all the action, with a halo of flyaway hairs around the head, she looked younger. So full of almost extinguished life, in more senses than one. She pried Hora’s blaster away and claimed it; her inactive sword disappeared between silky skirt folds. “Are you alright?” The woman was visibly – and understandably – tense, and kept trying to hug Hora’s shoulders in a protective display. 

“What? Yes! Are _you_ alright?!”

Rey waved dismissively.

They were ushered at a rapid pace from one sheltered position to the next across the yard and up the portico, and were forced to hunch the entire way. The farther they got, the more people joined their circle, every last one on edge. A suggestion was voiced to board the shuttle and evacuate immediately, but, of course, no dice – _Mercy_ was staying for preliminary investigation. Rey informed everybody of the fact by growling orders through clenched teeth.

In a strategically chosen corner of the vestibule, where they arrived to wait until a safer location would be secured, Hora experienced a weird detaching. Lili had this annoying-yet-endearing habit of plopping next to her forcefully whenever they shared a bench, so that Hora got half-scooted out of the previous spot by her friend’s hip. It felt exactly the same, but in her head. Her body became an empty vessel filling with water – heavy to move, distant. The weight was scary, but calming in a weird way; there wasn’t any energy left to panic. Hora was a step removed from her hearing and vision, looking up to the surface after getting submerged.

The world dissipated. She saw only Rey, grotesquely lit in hyperfocus. She remembered a similar effect from the memory with Hux. She saw Rey tilting her head inquisitively as if at a strange sound. It seemed that any second now the woman would sniff the air to catch a scent. She saw Rey’s eyes cutting to hers, saw Rey leaning in to peer. Saw several emotions take and lose their hold on the woman in quick succession: confusion, realization, surprise, anger. There was also a flicker of a softer, delicate thing, but only one part of Hora’s presence perceived it, while the _other_ , the invader, stayed blind.

“For Kwath's sake!” Rey barked, fuse fried with the day’s turmoil. “Get out of my Yeoman!”

Touch, cool and pleasant, licked at Hora’s forehead, and the world solidified. Water disappeared, exorcised by Rey’s thumb between Hora’s eyebrows. She could only blink, burned out and a little nauseous. Her chin was cupped and received a gentle shake: “Did it hurt?”

Surprisingly, no. Plus, caring about anything other than their immediate safety was beyond Hora by this point. “It was just… looking? I guess?” She could make another distant guess, that as long as no more attempted assassinations happened, her mind would probably stay untouched. 

Rey retracted deeper into the corner to concentrate. She put her fists and forehead to the stone wall in an imitation of prayer. When her eyes opened, their searching gaze stopped on a specific spot – an empty spot, with no one standing there. She grimaced and shook her head, irritated. Her hands made a descriptive swipe along her body, from head to toe, and flared at her sides in a universal come-at-me stance. “Happy?”

Hora didn’t get to hear the answer, if it was given by thin air, or ask any questions. The middle-aged captain of Jakku Base (who had come running already looking like a heart attack) resurfaced to fetch them. He saluted and made many awkward gestures of vaguely instructive nature; so many, in fact, he looked like an interpretive dancer by the end of the sequence. “My lady, please. This way. Let me escort you.”

The scarlet guards begun pressing with no hesitation; Rey, though, suddenly lugged, hypnotized by something out in the emptied yard. She dug her heels in: “But my-”

“Now, my lady.”

“Hora, my tunic!” Rey begged as they dragged her away. “I want it! Please!”

It lay where it had been discarded, black and perfectly visible atop cobblestones – a spooky, but harmless ghost. 

“I’ll get it, Rey,” she shushed. “I’ll get it for you.”

***

“I could help you with that,” a voice announced right next to Hora’s ear. “Easily. If you want me to.”

She emerged from her work to see an array of black braids arranged in a voluminous larger shape – familiar picture. The voice belonged to Taj Lynn, who came down with Lieutenant Dalon as a part of investigative team. She had the Cleared Personnel tag on her shoulder to let everyone know she’d been through the checkup and was allowed inside the safe room (principal’s office). Hora had one, as well, but it was given to her through the means of pure nepotism. She didn’t even know where interrogations happened and had no time to find out between the constant updates on civilians Rey demanded and the communication with the orbit.

“I can do my job fine!” Hora snapped, shifting the holopad until its screen was no longer visible. It hadn’t felt as satisfying as she had hoped, so to flee the sofa was her next logical step. She relocated to the other side of temporary headquarters. How dare anyone break her concentration! 

All snipers placed in the unfinished wing were discovered unconscious, incapacitated by a gas bomb. The shooter got less lucky – they had found his cooling body practically fried by an unidentified third party. The search was still ongoing for that one. Meanwhile, autopsy permit for Doctor Rittrr needed to be immaculate, in case any part of today’s events ever left Internal Affairs to be presented in court. One typo, no matter how miniscule, could dismantle the whole case. Was there anything more disgusting than bureaucracy? No. Nothing! But Hora still mastered it and required no help!

She glared at Taj Lynn, who now occupied the sofa and was also typing on a holopad. The analytic glanced up, and their eyes locked. Someone was going to get a tongue stuck out at them-

“Hora!” Rey called from the desk. She was obscured by the wall of officers, but remained very audible. “Did you do what I asked?”

“Yes! My lady!” She conveyed in words most stern that Rey’s padawans were to stay on _Mercy_ under any and all circumstances. Not that it stopped their ilk from flooding her inbox.

“Good! What’s the status?”

Hora doubted “the status” changed in the last ten minutes, but went to check anyways – she’d do anything to sooth Rey’s nerves.

“I could-” Taj Lynn started standing up when Hora walked past, but Hora, non-verbal from stress, outright hissed at her. The vermin had big dark eyes, and they were reminiscent of… stars, of the porg! There was that decided. Taj. What a perfect name for a noisy – and nosy! – little thing.

More commotion met Hora in the hall as soon as she stuck her head out. The soldier on duty, crucial to receive more hands-on updates that couldn’t be delivered via intranet, was preoccupied. He and Hux were trying to placate a determined-looking young man in a long garb citizens of Niima City favored. The guy had received an all-clear, according to his tag, but situation being what it was, loud agitated people grated on everyone’s nerves.

“What’s going on?”

“See? That girl came from inside the room!” The guy pointed. He was young with a smooth, symmetrical face Hora came to realize would be considered pretty. “She can ask, can’t she? It’s not much work!”

Hux and the soldier kind of deflated simultaneously. The former threw his hands above the head, giving up; the latter shuffled in place coyly. Their loud visitor pushed forward. “Hello, I’m Naia, I’m one of the nurses. I tend to the children. This one’s my husband,” he nodded at the soldier. “See, here on Jakku-”

The husband, dark skin on his cheeks blooming with darker spots as he blushed, softly spoke over him: “Let me. Basically, we’re married, all paperwork is in order, but he won’t believe it’s real until Min Gylif blesses it or something.”

The guy heard him out, making it very obvious with his expression that he was humoring the man. “Pours for us!” He squeaked in the end, unable to stay silent any longer. He had an attitude of a busy person with little time to spare on niceties and ceremony. “She’s a local girl, she’ll get it. Do you think it’s possible? Can you ask?”

Hora took the view in. The pair was young, younger than her by maybe two years, and matched the way opposites usually did, taking up empty spaces in each other. Clicking, slotting to fit. “You know what?” She said. Hux eye-rolled at her, but. First, dinner time had crept up – enforcing it due to Health Issues was Hora’s task. Second, a spark of happiness during trying times? Everyone needed some. “Actually, yes. Let’s do it.”

The loud guy laughed gleefully. His lively demeanor was, no doubt, very popular among the kids he treated. “I told you! Never any harm in asking!”

In a fit of vengeful ingenuity, Hora made him sit next to Taj Lynn while they waited.

She elbowed everyone out of the way until Rey’s desk met her thighs with its hard edge, and was legitimately short of breath by the end of it. Rey returned to wearing the officer tunic and was using one empty sleeve to flop from side to side in a nervous tic. A holographic map of the compound and adjacent grounds hang above the tabletop in front of her.

“My lady, you have to take a break and eat,” Hora announced.

The soldier couldn’t even lift his eyes as he held the salute, but his husband came through. He jumped up and chattered rapidly: “Min Gylif. My name is Naia. I come from Serpent’s Cauldron, the Slope Village, near the- ah, you know. This is the man I love, and who loves me. He made me sign a holodoc and tells me we’re married now. But what kind of m-”

“What kind of marriage is that?” Rey finished for him. If she was surprised or annoyed with Hora for this, she didn’t show it, only smiled on. “What kind of water-bond?”

Naia settled into a calmer demeanor once he heard this. “There’s no one to pour for us. My mother is in the ground. His parents… well. You know how it is with the troopers.”

“That’ll change soon, I can guarantee.”

“We could do it ourselves, but I heard you’d be visiting, and decided to wait. So, Min Gylif, I ask you: would do please pour for us?” He had eyes to match the face: beautiful. Green and bright, with long lashes. Knew how to use them, too.

“It’ll be my honor.”

Rey went to the window, where a rainbow film of the energy shield dropped colorful reflects. A tray with crystal decanter and a stack of glasses stood on the windowsill. She picked the top one and studied its transparent walls against the sun, then proceeded to pour the water in. Naia accepted the drink once offered, weighted it in his hand before eye-measuring the amount and downing exactly half. He thrust the rest at his husband with an instruction: “Chug it.”

That was really it. The couple returned the glass and, after thanking Min Gylif profusely (Naia) and blushing in her general direction (the husband), they departed. Rey took the emptied glass to its place and remained there, leaning shoulder-first against the wall to study the skies. Her nose was buried in the tunic’s high collar as she inhaled deeply, probably without realizing it. She looked vulnerable, like she wanted to make a tent out of the material and hide inside. “They seemed really happy.”

“Not much pomp,” Hora remarked. She brought over some vegetable wraps the guard inspected, and wondered out loud: “Should I try it for poison, too, just in case?”

Huffing, Rey stole the wrap and tore into it before speaking through salad leaves: “Not much time or resources for pomp. Oh, look.” She pointed up with the food. Another Star Destroyer went black over Jakku, the fourth one in two hours, excluding _Mercy_.

“ _Finalizer_!”

“I bet on _Dominion_.” Hora’s holopad pinged with new notification, and they read the report preview simultaneously. “ _Heresiarch_ , huh. We both lose.”

“Is Supreme Leader going to order the whole Fleet here?”

“Those are decoys. We’re not leaving with them.”

“Oh? How, then-”

It was weird, how vitality left the room as soon as the black figures entered. They pushed it out – two entities that couldn’t mix, occupy the same space. Water and oil. Hora used to catch glimpses of them sometimes in labyrinthine gangways of _Supremacy_ , shadows in cloaks and masks, frightening in how soundless their steps were. She had never been sure if they were hallucinations or brooding omens, and here her answer stood now, untouched by light, weaved from antimatter.

No one bowed in First Order – military and parade salutes were the height of physical formality. That’s why Hora was stunned when two of the five fell on all fours right after crossing the threshold and pressed their foreheads to the floor. The next pair made it deeper inside before kneeling. The last one, the leader, came the closest. Hora backed away instinctually as the knight approached. She stopped though, not crossing an intangible line, and bent a single knee.

Rey observed their approach gloomily while chewing through the last of her dinner. “Greetings.” She wiped her palms together to get rid of the crumbs and commanded: “Speak.”

The knight’s mouth was obscured by her metallic mask; most of her was covered up to conceal any subtle twitches an eye usually used for social clues. It created an unnatural, eerie effect. There was an impression of movement when she spoke, but no visual evidence – a phantom. “Master Jedi. Lady Ren. Your husband sends for you.” The tone was a mix of mocking and fearful, it’s velveteen lure unbroken even by the distortion box. “We are to depart straightaway.”

Rey unglued from her wall recline and linked arms with Hora. “I’m taking my people with me.”

“As her ladyship wishes,” the knight yielded.

“Parna, you’re in charge,” Rey continued, already on the move. Lieutenant Dalon waved in acknowledgment as the leader knight showed their way past her station. The knight’s silent companions framed the procession. “I expect you reporting back, to me personally, in two days.” Rey stuck her finger out to the side, harsh. “And confiscate all footage for evidence!”

The Director’s desperate, prolonged “no” followed them down the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *“Apprentice” by Marina Cvetaeva, 1920  
> translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat (but I messed with it)


	5. Self-Inflicted, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprizes all around. Gifts, revelations, weddings, attempted murders. Other (less fun) things, too. If you can re-read both parts back-to-back, do? I feel like it'll make more sense that way.
> 
> **Mind the tags! I add to them!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More like end of September, amirite?! XD In my defense, I went on a post-academic holiday, and the plague had been sneezed into me somewhere along the way. But I do feel much better, plus WE'RE FINALLY AT CHAPTER SIX! I swear, I want to write it so kriffing bad! It has some fun in it.

“What’s this? When’s this from?”

Hora twisted on her stool to see better. Over the low lounge table a holodoc was getting scrolled at a speed so excessive that lines merged into a homogenous glowing ribbon. Luckily, its name hovered above the active interaction field, unaffected.

“It’s an interoffice communiqué Military Council released at the start of quarter.”

“This quarter? That has just begun?”

“Yes. It’s maybe… three days old? Hover in upper right corner for the exact date-”

“They banned orbital strikes.”

“What?”

The news were… good, speaking in general terms, but Rey sounded agitated. Hora had to lean further in the sit to see her on the sofa behind the blue shroud. “The bill in my packet, the “Ban on Orbital Strikes during Pacification of Allied Systems”, it passed!” Lady Ren’s legislators had a voice in the First Order statutory apparatus via a number of proposals put forward for consideration at each assembly.

“I don’t remember drafting that…”

“Ignessa and I composed it years ago, I keep slipping the damn thing in every time!” Frustration was clear in Rey’s body language. Her elbows stuck out as she palmed her face. “You know, he should’ve pushed to move this because he cares about his people, not because I need to be placated.”

True. But- “What if he does care?” Silence. “Regardless, we have to take what we can get, right?” It would be nice to know the plan for the long haul, though. What was their goal? Methods? Yearly overview would have really helped in that regard… Rey waved a hand to switch the document off, and in a very familiar fashion a previously seen holo started playing in its place.

“Who’s that?”

Rey peeked out from under the forearms crossed on her forehead and smiled faintly: “Padmé Amidala Naberrie, the elected queen of Naboo during Trade Federation crisis. Also, a Senator of Old Republic.” She hid again and sighed. “I admire her so much. I want to act as she would have acted. She had attempts made on her life, as well, so I must be succeeding.”

“Supreme Leader was watching a speech of hers when we visited here last,” Hora chose to report.

Rey lowered her arms completely. “Really?!” After a confirmation, she added: “Senator Amidala was his grandmother, you know.”

“No. I absolutely did _not_ know that.” Hora assumed the man was untethered, like the rest of them. But he came from… what, royalty? A real family? To have no rest among the stars? Stupid.

“And his grandfather was a canned human disaster.” 

It was safer not to ask.

Hux, meanwhile, had been fiddling with measuring cups near Hora’s impromptu office station at the breakfast bar. He was also chasing off a saddened by this rejection helper droid. A plate of cakes was done already, but he didn’t stop there, continuing with the ministrations towards a drink of some kind. The result was deposited onto the table near Rey’s sofa. She studied it and asked:

“You want to show me, or should I take it from you?” Hux pointed at himself, made a motion a parent would make while lulling their child to sleep, and imitated writing on his palm. “Your mother’s recipe,” his lady interpreted. “That’s lovely. Thank you, Armitage.”

The man closed his eyes against her grateful smile before retreating to wash dishes. Rey fixed herself a glass of pinkish liquid and took a sip. She appeared calmer, so Hora tentatively continued with the work at hand. When Hux’s fingers tapped her screen not long after, she followed a nod to discover Rey fast asleep, slumped to the side under her black officer tunic for a blanket. She had entered the stage of pregnancy when naptime and bursts of energy took turns in the pilot seat. Blue reflected on her hair and forehead, the only parts still visible to the outside world.

***

ERROR: INVALID CIRCUIT, input panel informed. Irrational, but the red letters read as smug somehow. Condescending.

“Toxie,” Hora pleaded. “What do you want from me. Please, I’m dying over here.”

One of TOX-2’s cable tentacles swiped across her brow gently. It didn’t have an astrodroid’s ability to navigate programming and only offered limited advice, but its compassion compensated for the ignorance.

“I could finish the sequence,” Taj Lynn was happy to barge in, as always. “For example, reroute a string above the tasks section-”

Sure, that was it. Hora was an amateur who didn’t know how to implement basic solutions. “Thanks, Taj,” she groaned, “but I’m fine!” Out of sheer annoyance, the problem instantly became obvious: no path to store additional data was selected. An easy mistake when new hardware had been recently installed. Hora entered a designation and flipped the panel shut with flare, making Toxie sway. Done. One droid set for recording questionings. 

Rey watched as it accompanied Taj to join Lieutenant Dalon in the interrogation room. The claustrophobic space was excessively bright compared to observation chamber. Behind a reflective separator, it looked like a framed piece of art on the wall. “Why are you so mean to her all the time?” The woman asked.

“She’s patronizing for no reason. Snobby.”

Rey’s lips pursed as she considered it and suggested carefully: “Maybe she wants to help the only way she knows how? Maybe she wants to be your friend?”

Maybe Lady Ren should keep her bleeding humanitarian heart out of comforting grudges of others, Hora didn’t say. Rey laughed as if she had caught the thought anyway and swatted in Hora’s general direction. Great. Hora proceeded to glare away each gentle smile Taj Lynn kept throwing presumably their way through the mirror, until the doors hissed open.

Steered inside by a convoy was Tadrina Hitrys, and the woman zoomed in on her interrogators immediately. “Parna!” She exclaimed, dynamics filtering the sound flat. She gestured across a narrow table at the interrogator’s chair, inviting others to sit like one would during a social call in one’s office, not a summoning for cross-examination. “Wonderful to see you, how’s the wife?”

The stone-faced Lieutenant obliged, unbothered by power plays. “Tadrina. How’s the husband?”

Every woman in the room wore standard-issue uniform, but instead of it uniting them, they couldn’t look more different. The one identical thing just accentuated their dissimilarities. Glow panels blasted on maximum, and the harsh brightness erased years from the faces of older officers, washed out Taj’s skin. The blinking of TOX-2’s orange recording indicator was barely visible. Light overflowed into the observation chamber, diffused, and carved out Rey’s figure from surrounding darkness. She was standing at attention, but not aimed towards the busy chamber.

“Ben is here,” she declared.

Interesting. Lady Ren’s team had been confined to the Citadel for a couple of days, with Knights of Ren breathing down their necks at each and every step. Yet, Supreme Leader never showed up. _Away on a mission_ , apparently. The details were hazy to non-existent. He was, perhaps, receiving hourly updates on Rey’s whereabouts, for all Hora knew. Still, something in Rey felt unsettled when she walked _Supremacy_ ’s deck alone, the way she had never done before. Would the unease alleviate if her husband showed up? 

“Do you want to…” Hora trailed off and did a thing with her face. Stars knew what it conveyed, but it felt complicated. Rey mimicked the expression – it looked as complicated as it felt. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Do you want to…” Since making faces failed, Hora added a sound.

Rey repeated it back: “Mn-n-n what?” Nice try playing dim; too bad such cheap tricks wouldn’t work on Hora anymore. She was about to challenge the woman, but got shushed in time for Supreme Leader to stride in. He never really _entered_ spaces: doors mostly kind of happened in his bolide trajectory and were lucky if he paid them any mind. The man only stopped once he was looming over Rey, who almost swayed, snake-like, hypnotized. They drank each other in with wide eyes, sharing air that separated them. He was even more ragged at the seams than his usual disheveled self, dark clothes suited for traveling incognito crumpled and hair an outright mess. A high collar underscored tired shadows across his face.

There was an absence about the scene – a missing note, an interrupted line. Emptiness, but a present one, one that emphasized negative space. Hora would have given a limb for someone to open their mouth and drop a simple, _how are you?_

The mutual pull was apparently so strong, Supreme Leader barely managed the steps needed to reach the separator. Back turned to everyone and hands folded under the belt that crossed it, he asked: “How’s the investigation going?”

Rey composed herself and stood by him, elbows almost-but-not-quite in contact. It was strange to see the couple matching and not contrasting for once. “How’s crushing down on every vaguely oppositionist cell going?”

“You would prefer I don’t, and lo and behold. I didn’t.” Surprisingly.

“Huh. How’re the Unknown Regions, then?” 

“We’ll discuss my whereabouts at a later date.”

The man waited for a right moment to do that thing most personnel aware of Health Issues did now: subtly swipe his eyes up and down Rey’s body and linger on her middle. There was nothing to see there, obviously, especially not under her- his- the overcoat. But he did, nonetheless. Glanced away before she caught him, too.

“You know,” she said conversationally, “if you refocused our economy, you’d have credits of your own, and wouldn’t have to play glorified errand boy for sleazy moneybags.” She also studied him, gaze jumping from the fine lines in the corner of his eye to where a wisp of black hair curled right under his lower lip.

“Rey, please.” He touched her elbow with gloved fingertips – for a fleeting second. It was effective. “Now, will you tell me?”

“Seeing as how both conservatives and opposition only agree on one thing, namely me being a treacherous Jedi whore,” she explained cheerfully, “it’s either someone who loves the First Order, or someone who hates it.”

“Narrows the circle down nicely.” Tilted grins were exchanged.

“We’re getting the least likely suspects out of the way first.”

“Least likely?” He stretched his neck out, moved his jaw. “I don’t know. Hitrys really doesn’t like you.”

Rey huffed. “Oh, please! Hitrys would never. She doesn’t have to like me to need me. I’m her meal ticket. People _love_ me. While I’m out there, doing the bare minimum of human decency, you won’t be overthrown. And she can continue to rule the galaxy while you’re off playing war. Now that I’m pregnant, I’m invaluable to her. She can sell the shit out of that.”

Supreme Leader wanted to rebuke, but Lieutenant Dalon unknowingly cut him off: “From our understanding, you were an active proponent of Supreme Leader and Lady Ren starting a family, were you not?” A quarter down the pre-agreed script already. 

“Stars, can you imagine the little ones? Such blessed life,” the General answered. Her quick laughter promptly died under a theatrical shock. Toxie’s eye lens spun, zooming in. “On second thought, let us pray they don’t inherit _the nose_.”

“Or the ears,” Lieutenant played along, smile askew.

“Those, too.” General shook her head. “It’s hard to sell the public on a religious fanatic with unnatural, terrifying powers. Now, a family man? That’s appealing. Who wouldn’t want to have a protective father? A founder of a strong dynasty?”

Lieutenant’s eyebrows arched. “We’re talking dynasties now?”

“Parna, dear, don’t play dumb. Core has been positively weeping for a firm grip. This, what we’re doing here?” A gesture to encompass the ship. “Child’s play. Don’t you want to go back to the glory days?”

“The rations were better, definitely.”

“Also, stability. Can’t forget the main attraction.” General’s eyes shone almost feverishly, a future only she could see bright before them. She leaned over the tabletop towards her old associate. “Think, Parna. Imperial-era generals are senile pushovers. The younger echelons? Green ignoramuses. And as for our dear breeding pair… While she skulks all over the galaxy mopping up the messes he’s busy making, _we_ rule!”

Chuckling without any real amusement, Rey rubbed her forehead. Hora’s dry throat clicked down a nervous swallow while she assessed Supreme Leader’s reaction- Or a surprising lack thereof. Well. Too obtuse a person would’ve turned into an icicle by now, spinning across the soundless void of Unknown Regions, so. No doubt, the man looked inside the hearts of senior officers around him all the damn time and corrected his trust and behavior accordingly. General’s dislike of Rey must be strong enough to keep suspicion alive.

“What if Lady Ren becomes a problem?” Lieutenant Dalon asked. “Politically?”

General’s hand swatted away such concerns. “Martyrdom is always a good way to be rid of a nuisance. But… I simply don’t see it happening. Her usefulness,” she pointed straight at the mirror, shameless, “is only surpassed by her lack of political acumen. The girl is the first good thing to have happened to us since the Emperor perished.”

“That’s enough,” Rey said. She activated the intercom. “I sense no lie in her words, Parna. Wrap it up and move along. I’ll expect a full report on others once you’re done.” Everyone inside gave a choppy nod, so the woman disconnected and, to her husband, added: “She’s only dangerous when integrated into a structure. No need for harm when retirement should do the trick. Still, I would think twice. Practicality must prevail.” The General got a taste of her own medicine without even knowing. “Remember her swiftness when doing away with the slave trade across Casabi sector. That’s nothing to spit at. You can always keep an eye out and take action if needed. ”

He moved one shoulder, a half-shrug, and Rey signaled for Hora to retreat in their rapidly developing non-verbal code.

“I know you don’t believe me, but I do want what’s best for the galaxy,” Supreme Leader whispered. It was almost a plea, a plea for Rey to delay, to stay, like a tiny hand grabbing for purchase on a moving skirt.

“Ha!” Exasperated, she made a coronet with her fingers encircling her head – the statement couldn’t quite settle inside, and she tried to stuff it in, make it fit. A sharp exhale tore out, once it did. “Ben. You do want a great many things. You want to not be afraid; you want for the anger to fade. You want, bizarrely, for your dead father to love you; your mother to forgive you. You want me in your bed. You want to become powerful, so strong no one could ever hurt you. All of it has shit all to do with the galaxy.”

This caused an angry turn, hair flaring in a dark cloud around his pale distorted face. “Lies! I don’t want you in my bed, I want you by my side!”

“That’s what you decided to focus on. Great.”

Staring off into a random dark corner, Hora distantly wondered if these two could hold a one regular conversation. Without big words or hurtful retorts thrown around. Something benign, two minutes long. Baby names? Droid maintenance? 

“Do you really believe me incapable of compassion?”

“Oh, you have compassion aplenty. Which makes you very skilled at suppressing it.”

Probably not. 

“I let it in. I let it happen. I let good happen.”

“Ben, your good cannot be allowing me to act! That’s mine! You have to create your own light. Force knows your shadow is long enough!”

One thing, though, attracted Hora’s attention: for the rest of the day Lady Ren fumed too intensely to stay ill at ease.

***

The idea was terrible.

“It’s a terrible idea,” Hora stated, trying to convey the sheer enormity of bad decision forced on her.

“Noted,” Rey said and let the dust respirator free so it snapped, sealing itself over Hora’s nose and mouth.

They were disguised as tuboids – a somewhat offensive term for minor engineering personnel who operated… well, in tubes beneath interior paneling. Full body protection suits, eyewear, and breathing masks in wonderful vomit colors plus priority pass codes guaranteed invisibility throughout the vessel.

“I think it’s exciting,” Lili chimed in, awe as evident in her voice as an hour ago. A weakling, this girl.

“Yeah, I bet you do.”

What a wonderful surprise this day cycle had started as! But Rey’s ulterior motives quickly became obvious: Lili was here to mellow Hora out; a human bribe. A gloriously successful bribe. One that bracketed its smiles with dimples and scratched its nose when bashful. Still dumbfounded by the sheer physical presence of her friend, Hora let Rey talk circles around them both and, before any alarms could be raised in her mind, the three of them were already sneaking away from the Citadel.

So. Kriffing. Stupid.

And so easy!

Outside, where everyday noise was dense, the realization came: she missed people. Crowds. Normal foot traffic, absent from Supreme Leader’s personal corner. Faces that weren’t creepy masks. Alive voices. She also missed anonymity; walking around without awed expressions turning to watch…

The deck they ended up on had a wall-to-wall viewport that created an illusion of oneness with cosmos. Many unaccustomed to interplanetary travel were known to find such rooms unsettling. Hora, like other space-dwellers, recognized the galaxy for what it was – a duality. Cold, deadly; but also breathtaking. Indifferent, yet all-accepting. The beauty universe carried was eerie, of a kind which made observers quiver and tear up.

 _Supremacy_ was currently hiding on outskirts of civilization, far from any trade route in parts even outlaws avoided. A supernova had once ignited nearby, born from a binary system that concluded its gravitational embrace. Years passed since and left only a remnant behind; shock wave long came and went while stellar material slowed down and turned into interstellar medium. Now, a young nebula was spilled behind the transparisteel canvas, colorful through several lowered filtering screens. An army of First Order harvesters dotted its frozen shawl with their silhouettes, busybodies submerged in automatized task of leeching and filtering stardust.

“I still can’t believe how much beauty the world contains,” Rey whispered reverently. She peeled the glasses up past her forehead to see better. The soles of heavy military boots clicked against the deck when she crossed it, arm up as if to touch one tiny harvester and pet it.

“I would like to point out that these are particularly scenic coordinates. The world also contains a whole lot of boring black nothing, which is usually the view.”

Rey chuckled and addressed Lili: “Was she always like this?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“I think I will be sad to leave stars if future requires I settle,” the woman continued. “But not everyone would feel the same. What do you say, my friend? Will you travel to find your family once the records are made public?”

“I- Probably?” Hora tried to contain any thoughts on the topic to the realm of hypothetical, to preserve sanity. “I don’t want to jump so far ahead.”

“Obviously, we’re working on an aiding program for all, but I will personally provide you with any assistance required. You too, Lili -”

“No need, my lady.” Lili’s deep-rooted resolve didn’t shutter even upon Rey’s prompt. She turned a bit, eyes burning with anger as fresh as Hora remembered from their childhood. “I’m not going anywhere. Definitely not to find my parents. They have no claim to the epithet.”

Rey frowned. “Oh?”

“I wish I could find my little brother. But I should face the reality: he’s most likely already dead. He was in the stormtrooper program, as well.” Her volume dropped on the cursed word. “We’ve been sold to the recruiter for a cylinder of alcohol.”  
Such honesty was rewarded with a compassionate pat on the back and a humorless smile. “It’s an interplanetary practice, I assure you.”

“Junk lords of Jakku really did raise you? My lady?”

“Yes. And they were all the same. Their species varied, but not their rotten core. The one I belonged to could overpower five like me at once. His closest competitor was a tiny Toydarian, but he used manipulation to get muscle on his side. Different ways to go about the same disgusting business.”

Empathic tranquility unfurled on the deck. It stood empty, typical for a busy third shift, and Hora allowed the white noise of anxiety to subside, and herself – to enjoy the provided view. Her favorite sights to witness were usually planets from their orbits, surfaces blanketed by atmospheric movements so colossal they seemed slow… but most scenic memories she held dear were sullied by the aftermath. This nebula, though, was free of guilt and hurt and sadness, free of artificial violence. Fresh, newborn, it brought on its slopes and columns a new hope, a feeling of life beginning again. Hora let it in, the way Rey taught her during meditation lessons. 

Say, her records would be quickly located…

She-

She wanted to go forth and find her family. And she wanted it to go well. With everyone alive and healthy, happy to see her with joyful, shiny eyes. Naïve. Unlikely. But she wanted it anyway.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Rey interrupted their reverie, loud to a fault. Before Hora could complain, the woman added: “The destructive potential? Gravity is relentless. It never gives.”

“Seems to me, it only succeeded in creating more stars.”

“You’re right, Ben. But that’s the whole point.”

Rey tore her gaze sideways and bottomless reflections vanished from her eyes. Her husband melted out of the shadows around southern entrance; a black toy soldier, unremarkable next to the colorful splashes of the universe. That was Hora’s first thought. Her second? _Busted._ Sharing her sentiment, Lili stepped closer, subtly shielding Hora from Supreme Leader.

Each approaching step resonated over and over down _Supremacy_ ’s the metal belly. “Min gylif. I cannot describe the importance of you _not doing this shit_.” He bent lower with every word, for emphasis. Angry or not? Impossible to tell. The man’s body language was routinely intense. “People you’re responsible for, whose job it is to protect you, are panicking back there.”

Irritated, Rey hooked her fingers under the respirator and yanked it down. “Everybody in the galaxy wants to kill you, yet you’re not confined to your little ship.”

“Yes. I also had a division protecting me, not just one soldier and a secretary.” Hora sputtered.

“What, and you brought a division along here?”

Close now, Supreme Leader sighed, and it was an unexpectedly simple, tired display. He straightened and shifted his weight. A silvery box previously obscured by a black cloak travelled from under his right arm to under his left. He swiped back, to where several soldiers crowded the gangway right outside the doors. “Listen, I understand. You feel crumpled. Go as you please, venture out. I shall be very surprised if there’s any danger for you here that you can’t sense in time. But bring security along. Take the guards if you don’t like my knights-”

“I don’t.”

“As for my whereabouts… I was nearing the completion of a long pursued task. The completion which, I believe, will bring you more pleasure than my immediate presence ever could.” He hesitated, but eventually the box got rather choppily offered to Rey.

One of her eyebrows twitched. “What’s this then?”

“A present. For you.”

Nebulously distrustful, she mounted the gift, not heavy by the looks of it, atop her knees. The lid clicked, abiding her fingers, and sprung open to reveal a small object secured in suspension gel. A mineral of some sort, Hora guessed, or a crystal? Milky, it glittered, reflecting back numerous lights across the high ceiling above. The crystal’s raw surface, slightly muddled by the cloudy substance it rested in, remained discernable: an oblong cluster of pointed individual wands. The whole thing was maybe as long as Hora’s hand.

Pale almost to the point of matching bluishness, Rey stared.

“The old tradition cannot be observed without it,” Supreme Leader concluded, ever cryptic. He was absorbing every tic of her face hungrily, fixed on his wife like a seeker droid. If Hora didn’t know better, she would say the man looked nervous. Rey teetered on a verge of expressing whatever reaction the gift provoked and, as if suddenly spooked by the prospect, Supreme Leader nodded his goodbyes and fled. Half of his people stayed behind, glancing Lady Ren’s way in reverence. 

The lid fell down with a resolute clack. “He knows about my students,” she murmured, horrified.

***

Next morning marked an onset of scary resolve in Rey. The eyes that carried it were flat, calm, and her whole posture became relaxed, a stillness of ambush predator. The customary belt did not take its place over her light exercise tunic, the feel of it unpleasant as of late. Otherwise, the ensemble brought over from _Mercy_ was the same she always donned to train her padawans.

Warriors on _Supremacy_ had no need to undergo restrictions Rey’s students faced. A vast training complex hosted them, not a living room with furniture pushed out of the way. Hora followed her friend through spacious showers and locker rooms, a hall brimming with equipment, an armory, until finally they arrived to a sparring arena. The center had three rectangle rings, two smaller and a large one, drowned half a meter deep into the floor and filled with fine ash-grey sand. A morning session was clearly underway, every patch occupied by dark figures in close combat by twos and threes. 

They wielded weapons similar to Rey’s in everything but coloring – theirs shone red. Blades sent buzzing and humming to travel through the air, pitches changed correspondingly to arcs and jerks and thrusts. Hora had never seen so many at once before. Rey’s Jedi sparred with swords or staffs of lightweight wood, less often – with plasma quarterstaffs and spears. That’s why Supreme Leader presented her with kyber: her students had no means to construct real swords. (Not swords, but sabers, much to Hora’s indignation. The blades were straight to a fault! No curve! Rey tried to explain how conductors inside “curved” the light or the plasma or something, but it still made little sense.)

She also explained how without the sabers, padawans couldn’t become knights, not really. “The crystal is the heart of the blade,” Rey had quoted. “The heart is the crystal of the Jedi. The Jedi is the crystal of the Force. All are intertwined: the crystal, the blade, the Jedi. We are one.”

Supreme Leader was present among his grim cavaliers. He stood his own against a heaving trio, himself flashed and sweating profusely. They must have been at it for a while: deep tranches and black spots of sand melted into obsidian covered the main arena all over. Tamer fighters were quiet compared to the growls and shouts of the group. These were seasoned warriors that had seen many battles; no verbal instruction broke physical conversation of weapons, so very unalike Rey’s lessons.

“Desist!” Supreme Leader barked as soon as he noticed visitors in his sanctum. Every saber in the room immediately switched off, and security made a noticeable effort to keep their deck-pointed blasters as far away from Lady Ren as possible. Arms at his sides and shoulders dancing up and down, Supreme Leader waited. Hair was plastered to his sweaty temples, forehead, and neck. He stood barefoot and had on a shirt of thin dark material with deep front v unlaced and sleeves secured at the elbows. His veins were bulging after such strenuous sparring, gaze as searing and awake as ever. The partners to undergo his vicious siege were busy catching their breath in a bracket around; the head of delegation sent to pick Rey up from Jakku was the only recognizable one, betrayed by her graceful wide frame.

“Do you require some more of my wardrobe, min gylif?” Supreme Leader demanded as silence grew. Light-hearted jab fell flat; Rey bore the attention of everyone present with ease, her oddly tranquil eyes reserved solely for her husband. Wordless, she walked what distance lay between them and lowered her soft-soled boot onto the sand. The man flinched, and his knights scattered to exit the battlefield. A weaponless hand pointed at Rey: “I am not fighting you, are you out of your mind? You know keeping that baby alive is part of the deal, right?” 

“We don’t have to fight,” she reasoned. Retreating pitter-patter whispered past Hora, parting for her like brook around a stone. “We can still do steps. Forms.” 

He measured her up, clearly desperate to decipher the intent behind this visit. “I’m shocked you know them.”

“Well, _I’m_ shocked you remember them still.”

Hora picked out a spectator’s bench to set up camp and unburdened all equipment there, close in case Rey required some water or a towel. Hux chose to stay by the doors, mostly watching the gangway beyond and ignoring the arena.

Supreme Leader’s heaving soon surrendered back under his control. This part was familiar: Jedi technique called for a lot of precise stillness and breathing. Sweat dried and cheeks paled as the man progressed in synchronicity with Rey. Silent, unwavering, they raised hands and lowered them, held one complicated pose after another in progression, slid their feet soundlessly through sand just so. Right before Hora’s eyes a beautiful sequence of liquid movement was woven by two resonating bodies. No matter how different their appearance, they were kin, like, same. The view hypnotized and lulled, smooth pattern of centuries-old discipline pushing out any thought. It looked like a dance, of sorts.

And thusly was this dance enchanting, that Hora found herself transported into an older time of glory and noble deed, in a way a Holonet search could never accomplish. She saw women and men and otherwise rise to a calling of unseen yet omnipresent Force – an unstoppable tide of good intentions. She saw their temples: low to the ground and bulky, gleaming with spires that climbed towards the stars, shimmering in the arms of underwater currents or air fronts, secret and famous, new and forgotten. She saw knowledge passed down there, simultaneously well-studied and freshly-discovered always, at any point in time. She saw weapons igniting and weapons being tossed aside, wounds inflicted and healed. Hope-love-mercy-forgiveness-righteousness heaping, heaping… spilling over. Until all became twisted, and meanings switched, and there was no power left but imbalance.

Now all had perished. Only Force remained.

The sequence concluded seamlessly, brought to a close by Rey, Supreme Leader close behind. Younger and calmer, he surely benefited from the exercise. His wife didn’t turn when the saber appeared in her hand and lit up all in one jolt of an arm.

“Now, forms,” was her command. The sharpness of it lingered, ricocheted through the massive space.

Supreme Leader reluctantly obeyed. Forms included much of the similar synchronicity, if more energetic; the couple fought the same shadow enemy Rey aided her padawans in fighting. Supreme Leader’s crossguard had an uneven blaze and a distinct noise, very different from the clean humming of its sibling. His blade crackled, laboring for every swing. The man’s style was accordingly showier and heavier than Rey’s economical one, and those individual signatures came through despite common denominator of practicing movements.

Their breathing sped up – again, for Supreme Leader – while double- and one-handed and backwards grips alongside other fits of swordwork Hora couldn’t identify became faster and more aggressive. Sand now splashed in fans from under stomping feet as blue-and-red was drawing purple lace on the lining of Hora’s eyelids. With one final advance, the pair was done.

He lowered his saber. She did not.

“Rey,” Supreme Leader said, and Hora had heard this exact intonation from him before, in the _Zenith_ vision.

She didn’t show she heard. Her thumb slid slightly on the shiny hilt and pressed in. Another light blade unfolded to balance out the already ignited one, shining a steady faded blue of incandescent summer sky to match its twin. Hora jumped to her feet as Rey swirled and attacked her husband with a simple, blunt arching maneuver.

A mother’s instinct is to protect.

Red flew to meet blue, fend it off; chaos followed. The man hopped back and exclaimed: “I’m not fighting you!” He hurled his crossguard, powered down, aside where it landed in a slide to spin. Rey’s only response was a growl, and it grew to be a roaring scream as she gave chase. Ungraceful, transparent offence poured over her opponent, but for all its clumsiness it was still effective, still deadly against a disarmed person. Supreme Leader avoided as much as he could, until she was upon him and forced him to fall on his back in the sand. He landed heavily – air left his lungs with an “oomph!”, – but quickly rose up on his elbows. A film of sand clang to his damp shirt all over. His chin was met by one end of Rey’s lightblade.

The moment tittered on an invisible brink of almost-fate. The morning’s tranquility deserted Rey to possess Supreme Leader instead. 

“I’d let you do it,” he threw up at her bared teeth and wild eyes – a fact, not a challenge. 

Sufficient oxygen avoided Hora’s lungs as she watched. While at Rey’s side, she found herself witnessing history often. But if… this… would come to pass, she surely would not survive to tell the tale. Maybe on _Mercy_ , but not on _Supremacy_.

It looked like a barrier of resolve Rey constructed fell suddenly, and a rush of something – a realization of sorts, or common sense, maybe? – swept in. Her grimace smoothed over into a flushed, slightly bewildered expression. She closed her mouth, breathing through the nose now, and turned her lightsaber off. Her hand flew the distance to rest on Supreme Leaders glistening forehead and slid down, the path of his scar gliding under her fingertips.

“I wouldn’t even if I could,” she said, thoughtful, as if revealing it to herself. Another decision seemingly made, she squatted near him in the sand. They never stopped studying each other in torn vulnerability.

An object slid out of the bench pile and caught Hora’s attention; she whipped around just to find a flask getting tagged up and away. It met Rey’s palm with a quiet thump. Rey shook the thing close to her ear, measuring fullness, and flipped the cap open without a glance. She took a long, several gulps long, swig from it, mindlessly wiped some stray droplets away. The flask was then outstretched towards Supreme Leader.

He blinked, wary but with a defiant chin still in the air, and shifted his weight on the one arm to throw back a single mouthful like a shot of strong alcohol. Rey intercepted the flask before it could be lowered and pressed to keep the water flowing. “Finish it.” She watched him obey. Once empty, she chucked it away.

Hora had seen this before.

“At least you wait till I’m awake to try and kill me. I respect you for that.”

A light kiss, somewhere between his lower lip and jawline, judging by the tilt of Rey’s head, concluded the ritual. Hora had seen this before, too. Supreme Leader’s wedding ceremony was never transmitted live, but a brief clip got included in the newsreel on the evening of. Footage of a tiny room, empty except for then-General Hux, a protocol droid, and the couple. No one knew what to think of the bride back then: thinner than reality in a black officer uniform without identification marks, she looked between defiant and scared. But she went for the kiss first, same half-shy half-aggressive off-kilter thing. 

“Ignessa says, if everybody around you is a moron, means you are the central one. If everyone tries to kill you, maybe your behavior is the problem? Just a thought.”

Rey stood and climbed out of the arena to quickly aim for the exit.

“I will never touch your students,” Supreme Leader announced as Hora followed.

“You’ve massacred students before,” Rey retorted.

“Those weren’t the same students, and I wasn’t the same man. I will not. I swear.”

She sighed and paused in the doorway. “I believe you believe that, Ben. And I’m not really worried you would touch them. Not in the way you think.”

Pale, tight-lipped Hux let her pass. From this close, a buzzing sphere of invisible energy pawed softly at any fool who dared approach. Around the very first corner Rey stopped to wipe sweat off her brow with the proposed towel. It was sent flying into a wall by a frustrated hand. Rey studied the lopsided white lump on the floor, teeth showing, not all present. Her gaze pierced reality from the depth of whatever spell she went under. _I am complicit now_ , rustled an alien through Hora’s mind.

Lady Ren did not have to share her water and life with it. Not her mercy. Not anger and tears and sweat and blood. Body. Soul. But she chose to, consciously, today – for the final time and till forever.

Hora glanced between her and Armitage. In many aspects, Rey’s punishments were self-inflicted, too.

***

The following day, what ended up becoming their next-to-last aboard _Supremacy_ , was marked in Hora’s memory by three flashes of violent red.

_First-_

The armor plate was well tended to, enough that it reflected not only lights, but Hora and Rey as well, even if crimson-tinted.

“See? I’m taking a guard with us. And Armitage!”

“Still stupid. Stupider than before. Armitage is useless! And we’re not subtle with the guard around. She’s a glowing arrow, we’re not sneaking anywhere. Not like last time.”

“I’m not staying in here a second longer. We’ll visit the same place. And since you’ll be unhappy no matter what, I’ll spare everyone else’s sanity, at least.”

“Can’t she change? Can you change?”

“We’ve been on lockdown since you arrived,” the guard piped in unhelpfully.

“Irrelevant!”

“Hora, please, let’s just go.”

_Second-_

Praetorian’s blood was pastel orange – an Artagonian, surprise-surprise. Rey’s looked black, because the pants it soaked through were brown. But Hux’s was as red as Hora’s own, a shocking sickle splattered vertically on a nearby bulkhead. And across Hora’s cheek. She hadn’t noticed at first, the drops warm to match her own body temperature, but air filtering system quickly cooled the liquid down. Made it tangible. Real.

_Third-_

Supreme Leader had only just summoned his crackling vengeance to tint everything scarlet, and Rey was already closing one bloodied fist and jerking it to her chest. Copying its trajectory, the attacker zipped meters remaining till the deadly light to become impaled. When lightsaber went through, it cauterized the path. No blood on that one.

***

Nothing changed in either open space or on the recreational deck in their absence. Deliberately uncomfortable sitting was too skimpily scattered for Hora’s tastes, and she guided the group towards more lavish upholstered sofas by the doors.

The voice, quiet and ripe with hatred, came from the wall: “You pitiful bitch!”

When Hora was a child, those too young for active combat had been assigned a communal dormitory. Sleeping sells occupied every wall floor to ceiling, six beds high. Hers was the top one; they needed a pathway of brackets to climb up. Instructors placed less physically strong there, for additional training. Hora’s bunk happened to be right next to a vent grate. Maintenance droids held dusty webs at bay, but impenetrable darkness peeking through the duraplast strips terrified her. When lights went into sleeping mode, she lay there, clutching her blanket, and trembled in morbid anticipation. From time to time unknown sounds trickled down the tube system, and she would almost see shriveled monsters about to come for her. Oh, how she wanted to take refuge down where Lili slept at the very bottom!

Handlers started distributing sleeping gas at down time not long after, so her problem disappeared. But the hissing whisper coming from underneath the tuning panel revived that fear. It hid in every line of the creature’s body when it showed itself. Buzzing accompanied its movement: a pair of wings allowed a tumor of limbs and torso to stay afloat. It appeared weathered, like a lump of disused rugs on the floor. 

It also had a blaster.

“Everyone, wait!” Rey commanded. “You will put your weapon away.” A steel core in her voice usually proved enough to crush any will.

“You destroyed my life. Took away my planet! My business!”

Not this time. 

Praetorian guard went down first: she threw a fizzing zap dagger at the enemy while shielding Lady Ren with her own body. The force of discharge penetrated her chest plate dead center and threw the woman back; Rey barely managed to avoid collision. Burnt hair, heated durasteel. Hux went next. Unarmed, he jumped before his lady as she struggled for balance. Blue plasma hit his neck and dragged him, fallen, along the floor.

Hora did not freeze. This time, she was prepared. Ever since Jakku she indulged in blaming her slow reaction. Now was the time to redeem. Wild heartbeat only fueled her resolve. Unstrapping a blaster of her own, recently programmed for quick reaction and instant safety release, she aimed at the creature’s middle and fired thrice in a row. The weapon always felt weightless as it discharged, demanding a secure grip. Her shots missed… no, they didn’t hit, same as the dagger. For its oddness, the creature was agile in flight. A hard target.

“You will stop!” Rey tried again. Luckily, Hora’s barrage was enough to make the attacker sway off the course; his next attempts went wide, and as Rey fell, Hora knew to blame a mere leg wound. She dove after her friend.

When next their surroundings registered clearly, a black swarm of death troopers poured in – unavoidable river. Blaster fire played back on a whiny loop in Hora’s head. Zip! Zip-zip! It served as a perfect soundtrack for the nauseating meaty smell permeating the area. Over cussing Rey, Supreme Leader stood coiled to leap, a protective mate. He powered his crossguard, and Rey made a fist.

The results were hurled in two opposite directions. Troopers surrounded the body; someone went to pick up Supreme Leader’s weapon. Wild-eyed, he kneeled over Rey, gloves bitten off, large hands hovering. Her sweaty head was pillowed on Hora’s thigh. He squirmed out of his cloak, tore a stripe for an improvised tourniquet, made a compress out of the rest. Rey heaved pained breaths, cheeks puffing, over shouts of soldiers securing the perimeter. Hora surrendered her fingers to be squeezed to death.

“Rey,” Supreme Leader whispered, applying pressure. He freed one trembling arm, shook it out – the palm lit up with warm and soft glow, yellowish white. “The babies-”

“Are fine!” She wailed, same hand that destroyed the creature now reaching towards other victims. “My people! Help my people!”

One spit out “Kriff!” later Supreme Leader surrendered the crumpled bundle of his cloak to Hora. She didn’t hesitate, pressing it mercilessly into the meat above Rey’s knee. Rey’s bloodshot eyes found hers, upside down. A bead of some kind – sweat or tears – dripped from Hora’s face and slid down the track Rey’s own made.

Supreme Leader crouched by Hux and capped his nape to lift the head, while putting his fingers on white freckled forehead. His eyes squeezed shut and he froze, listening in. A sleek red pool never stopped growing around them, grotesque shadow of escaping life. By the way Hux’s head hit the floor with a dull thud, like a ball abandoned by a bored child, Hora immediately realized that ex-general was dead. Simple as that. Real. His chin froze, pointing diagonally up, and vacant light eyes traced the same direction towards a distance veiled from the rest.

Supreme Leader moved on to Artagonian mere meters away, bent one knee. He flipped her face down and pried the back plate away to reveal a wet concave mess where energy beam exited her body. The healing technique he wielded was reminiscent of Rey’s, yet… his movements were much easier, light – brighter. The wound yielded almost without hesitation and faded in no time. It didn’t become a scab or a mangled scar. It _faded completely_. When the man threw things around, mauling his ship, he always looked one step away from a popped vessel. While healing, his face remained uncharacteristically tranquil. He was much better at it than at destroying. He was much better, in fact, than Rey.

“The Force wouldn’t touch him,” she complained once Supreme Leader returned, waving Hora’s assistance away. The fabric she held was already heavy and warm. He was determined to rip the pant leg apart.

“Toydarians are resistant.”

“Like Ysalamiri?”

“No. Not like Ysalamiri.” The material loudly gave in. Military-grade, it wasn’t supposed to. Rey’s skin had turned pink with a sheen of smeared blood. The stress could not have been good for a pregnant person. Distract her- Well. That wasn’t Hora’s own though at all. “That’s probably how he infiltrated. Avoided detection.”

“We brought him on board ourselves, like vermin. How f- how fitting.” Rey gritted her teeth as her husband touched her raw flesh. Hora felt each word reverberating through her skull.

“You knew him,” the man remarked.

“Yes, I did. So many people want me dead, and it was a kriffing junk lord the whole time! I took his slaves and I made a better life for them. That’s my crime.”

Her body sagged, and Hora spooked, but only for a moment. It was relief, not unconsciousness. Supreme Leader’s palm stopped emanating that calming light, and Rey’s form was whole again. She smiled, a bit loopy.

“Are you stalking me, Ben?” He blinked in dull shock instead of answering, and she ordered: “Help me up!”

Medics hovered in uncertain line, allowing the couple their space. Infiltrator’s remains stayed where he fell, guards on watch over it. One broken membranous wing continued twitching. Held upright by her husband, Rey kicked the unsubstantial body with her good leg. Heavy boot extracted a wet crunch as it connected. The mass rocked passively, heavy in the way of all dead meat. She erupted, kicking for emphasis:

“I cannot believe! I have to keep surviving! That kriffing planet! I got out! I reformed it! I was done!”

She spat. Nausea squeezed Hora’s esophagus as she sat on the floor helplessly, only bloodied cloak for company. She had never before seen Rey so angry: furious out of a dark, hateful place.

Judging by Supreme Leader’s besotted face, he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love everyone who's still here! And respect those who are not! Y'all are floof sparkles.
> 
> Btw, if you're into **modern day Reylo AUs** , check out my spin on it here: [**petals on my tongue**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15539835/chapters/36074379)


	6. Spaces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this, I had SO. MUCH. FUN. You guys! :D Hope you like it. Can't believe I'm almost done.
> 
> Again, check out my [**modern day Reylo AU**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15539835/chapters/36074379), if you're into that sort of thing.
> 
> **Please, mind the tags!**

A bag stood on the easiest to reach shelf propped against the cupboard corner. Reverent, Hora touched the plastic after scowling at it. Neatly re-sealed inside where crinkly packets with clear labeling: polystarch, organic sataccaa flour, sweetener, salt… weights and expiration dates added in smaller font underneath. But no written instruction was included.

She concentrated, trying to remember the work on her screen, Hux’s shadow gliding back and forth, crossing the tabletop once in a while. The clatter of measuring cups and utensils, running water. A faint hiss of cakes rising instantaneously, their diluted inoffensive smell.

Hopeless endeavor. Not many were in the habit of paying close attention to Hux.

Hux as Hora knew him had been a pretty pedantic person. Even a tenth of a gram would probably make a difference in his recipe. He hadn’t tore the ingredient packets open, but cut them instead, half-way length-wise and then on right angle down. She thumbed the sharp edges, let them press into her fingertip.

“May I aid User?” Came a chirp from near her elbow. A helper droid with one big dark eye, body suspended on an arm from the ceiling rail, swayed hopefully.

“You didn’t happen to record Hux’s cake recipe, did you?” Hora sighed.

“Self-education based on external observation is part of my programming,” it reported dutifully.

“Alright. Show me.”

One confused scroll session later, it turned out the droid gave Hux’s cakes a specific label, namely “Unauthorized Water-Soluble Polystarch Mixture #23”. Under the same date marker the system listed “Syrup-Based Non-Alcoholic Beverage #15”, which made Hora jerk. Hux’s hands, folded to cradle an imagined baby, swayed before her mind’s eye. Would Rey have ever let him near her children?

Unbidden, a though came: what was Hux’s mother like?

A military wife? Herself an officer? A polished aristocrat from a patron world, where war was but a distant game to pick at when boredom became unbearable?

Finding out would be easy with her clearance, but Hora had no desire for it. She just wanted to imagine: a redhead, with pale narrow palms that her son inherited. With elegant grip on a long metal spoon that spun and grazed the glass walls of a pitcher melodically. Maybe, she had been laughing all the while and waving away a curios little befreckled nose.

In the end, Hora replicated the cakes perfectly, but deleted any traces of the Hux family drink from the droid’s database. It seemed too intimate to share.

***

“Phase two is a go!” Shimmii declared, joyful, ruthlessly tightening the corset belt. “Or it will be, as soon as you exhale more!”

Red-faced Rey quite obviously had no more air left in her to even argue with. The sole pathetic wheeze was all that came out; luckily, it sufficed. Shimmii made a quick work of an intricate knot and stepped aside, wiping sweat from under their chin.

“Buh!” Air invaded Rey’s constricted middle section with a starved sound. “For Kwath’s sake! How am I supposed to function in this!”

“You aren’t. It’s exclusively for show. As soon as we board the shuttle? It’s off.”

“Good,” Supreme Leader said rather coldly. “Because it can’t be healthy.” He squinted. “And it doesn’t seem to be doing the intended.”

Shimmii was notoriously fearless in the face of fashion critique; they huffed in clear dismissal. “That’s why there are two phases! See,” a dress with slightly raised waistline was tagged up over Rey’s now belted bodysuit, erasing the barest hint of Health Issues, “rumors have arrived. Everyone is so busy focusing on the jacket, they forgot about the skirt entirely. After we show up today… and maybe a couple more times… with no additional layer, trim as sataccaa brunch, any gossip will be squelched. Horrible realization shall befall the public: baggy style is in, for real. We’ll be able to bring the jacket back with no suspicion and conceal _anything_ for as long as needed.” Shimmii made a little dance of excitement. “I can’t wait to see all the terrible choices that will come out of this!”

Gangways, indeed, were brimming with whispers after newsreels broadcasted the heavily edited Jaku holo. Especially considering that intranet picked it up after. The clip had a happy conclusion, no violence in sight. Only Lady Ren’s wardrobe provided a target for discussion.

“Can we get moving, _please_ ,” the woman begged. “My breakfast is about to be squeezed back up.”

They were to depart from one of the docking bays on Senior Officer levels, only a semi-formal and largely civil affair compared to the typical fanfare. Private luxury transports and polished new fighters left many parking spaces free. Lady Ren’s loyal _Omicron_ , white aside from scorch marks, dwarfed them. Time window selected fell on the cusp of second shift, when everyone was busy with getting relieved, starting work, just waking up or sleeping soundly. Among the idle few gathered some were familiar from previous life. Hora made herself small and busy, hunching over her tablet. With Lord and Lady Ren as arrestors walking hand in hand in front of her, she became practically invisible.

They marched slow enough to provide a bit of a spectacle. Rey’s grey back nearly rung, tense from how straight she had to carry it. Hora could see the woman distributing more weight on Supreme Leader’s arm than usual. Rey smiled left and right, polite and wan, nodding here and there, but every time someone especially invested tried to approach for a conversation, Supreme Leader dragged the convoy ahead and glared the bastard into submission. Him, no one was dying to talk to. The man radiated tension. That paranoid feeling of her brain being stuck in gooey net Hora remembered from before his ascent? It was back.

“This is it,” Rey quietly said as they neared the shuttle. She wasn’t in a rush to let her husband go. “Though, I suppose, you are welcome to visit my humble abode, if you wish. I would love to repay your hospitality. It would be only fair.”

“What you mean is,” he answered even quieter, “you need help climbing the ramp because you can neither breathe nor bend.” He kept the suspense up till the very last possible second. “I will accompany you gladly, of course. Feel free to send any warnings my impending presence requires.”

“Pft! Why would I do such a thing,” Rey huffed, making a considerable effort to both sound dismissive and make sure her yeoman took all necessary precautions (by bulging her eyes as crew climbed ahead). For a person as trained in subtlety as Hora, it was easy to invoke Code Black on _Mercy_ ’s bridge as well as inform General Madava directly, all from her tablet and without raising suspicious.

Inside, the temperature was adjusted higher. Lieutenant Dalon and her personnel were obviously eager to go home. They saluted gracefully and showed no surprise as people descended on Rey and started tearing her clothes apart. Rey wiggled, one of her hands flailing above Shimmii’s head, and Supreme Leader reached out to catch it, provide support. 

He worried. His medical Captain, the one who knew Lady Ren’s file, worried, too. Even if the wound and any subsequent trauma were completely gone from her body – Hora kept a close vigil for signs of limping to match Supreme Leader’s – the received stress could be harmful. Captain took many samples and scans during an excessively thorough examination that tipped into absurd. When he produced a hank of red twine and, after wrapping it around Rey’s wrist for a moment, submerged it in a bowl of water, even Hora’s eyebrows crawled up.

“I’ve seen hacks in the desert do the same, Captain,” Rey had coldly remarked. “What are you up to and why.”

Ruddy spots bloomed across his neck and jawline. “My lady, Supreme Leader is a man concerned with your health. He’s also not known to shy away from punishment. Better I triple-check everything using these barbarian methods and look a bit stupid, because the stupidest look of all is a broken neck.”

No denying that.

As security went about pre-takeoff checkups, their communicators raining reports and static in equal parts, death troopers filtered in. Same old knight (whose name was, apparently, Zla) took the helm, while hot on their heels was one breathless General Hitrys. Her warpath lead straight to Supreme Leader.

Corset finally off, Rey adjusted her dress, allowing her husband to arrange them both in leisure seats intended for guests. Lieutenant Dalon, using the man’s distraction, said: “Heard about Hux.”

“Yes,” Rey replied, face up and eyes closed to let Shimmii fix her hair and makeup. She was taking deeper breaths, compensating for brief constriction. Hora went to strap in to personnel bench as far from Taj Lynn, smiling sharply in her impeccable uniform, as possible. Which was meager three sits down. Taj jumped on the opportunity to mock Hora and portrayed sadness, arranged her full lips into a pout. 

“An outright bastard, that boy was. I wonder where his soul went.”

“He is one with the Force now,” Rey answered. She gave a small grateful smile to Shimmii as they moved away, done. “It accepts everyone, no matter how saint-like or atrocious their lives had been.”

Hora tried to channel her inner ladyship and signal Simmii to choose a buffer seat, provide friendly shield, so to speak. But they only blinked their inner lid – an eyeroll – and sighed like a tired person, choosing instead the opposite bench. _Traitor_ , Hora mouthed at them. They turned to Taj and announced shamelessly:

“This is ridiculous, just so you know.”

Hora gasped. “Double traitor!”

But Supreme Leader out-shouted them both:

“-rn when I will return, and in my absence, why don’t you go ahead and _rule_?!”

His words jerked through General Hitrys’s whole body. Her partying salute was choppy, hand casting a shadow over paled, pinched face.

“Is the personnel roster in order?” Rey enquired suddenly into the pause of everyone watching General’s disgraced departure. Supreme Leader was laboring to stay calm by his wife’s side, face largely obscured by hair.

“I’m sure it… is?” Hora’s responsibilities did not typically stretch towards the technical side of transportation. They could. But didn’t. Typically.

“Why don’t you check?”

Suspecting another cypher at play, she obeyed. Vaguely familiar names made up the list included in takeoff permission. She recognized both pilots, the engineer. Security, though? Some names were new. One in particular, marked as permanent transfer-

“Lili!” Hora exclaimed, pure joy lifting her from the bench. Unfortunately, the already lowered harness crashed her shoulders and thighs painfully. The tablet almost went flying. She probably looked like a dumb flailing creature, but cared not the slightest bit. “Lili!”

One of the detail assigned to cockpit hesitated before turning and raising the helmet visor from her face. Beaming back at Hora was, indeed, Lili – now permanent member of _Mercy_ ’s crew. White teeth formed a smiling crescent on her dark face. She winked and shushed Hora, before putting the visor back and turning away, all business in new armor, wide shoulders set confidently.

A squeal vibrated in Hora’s throat. Her feet begged to stomp and jump, and her hands – to clap. Something light and warm buzzed between her lungs. She wanted to hug Lili. But soldiers were ordered to remain on high alert all week, and the last thing a new transfer needed was her friend to interrupt her post and make her seem unprofessional. She turned to Rey instead, helpless to express her gratitude. Because there was no doubt about where it belonged. Rey had an answering smile ready, eyes creased by shared happiness and lovely with it. 

Both her friends, by her side… Could Hora even imagine something so wonderful a year ago?

“Like gravitates to like, I suppose,” Taj declared sourly, turning away. Her grip on the harness was white-knuckled. Snob. She was never a soldier. Academy graduate, she came to fleet a specialist, a petty officer, taught and ready to look down on Sto- on soldiers.

Whatever. The happiness was too strong to let others tarnish it. Hora kept smiling at Rey, who was reprimanding Taj with a gentle disapproving expression to match Lieutenant Dalon’s. At least, until Shimmii aimed and spat one of their benign, toxin-free spikes across the aisle. Little sparkly missile imbedded itself deep into the mass of meticulously arranged braids atop Taj’s head. In somewhat stunned silence a loud quick laugh could be heard by everyone. Silence, now definitely stunned, continued, as Rey twisted in her seat to gape at Supreme Leader. He sat there blank, dark eyes on opposite wall, as if the unexpected laugh didn’t belong to him.

“Nice ornament, I’m keeping it,” Taj hissed at Shimmii. She never once glanced at Hora after that.

***

_Mercy_ ’s very air smelled better. A jin ga colony sprawled as high as middle decks, comfortable under the paneling. Continuous growth was very likely; its life cycle and byproducts provided the vessel’s airflow with a powerful filtering system, aided by the botanical bay on oxygenated levels. Hora didn’t miss the sanitizing solution cursing through ventilation of every other ship in the fleet. She took a deep lungful, so deep it prickled.

It would be ideal to take Lili on a tour and let her in on _Mercy_ ’s many deviations; investigate her new quarters and colleagues, talk. But they were both on duty, and a warm long look while walking in opposite directions was all they had. No matter. They also had an unlimited time together, now.

Hora’s duty was trailing Rey as she lead Supreme Leader towards her sanctum, letting slip no signs of surprise at various added or, conversely, missing features around. Code Black in full effect was surely ill-fitted for their ship. Inhabitants, noticeably more homogenous, harried past at highest available speed. For some reason, an overall impression from the couple was… cautiously amused? Rey had a spring in her step, and her husband walked lighter, smoother, his bad leg less noticeable. A concealed disadvantage.

“Welcome,” Rey said while her palm was getting scanned by the lockpad.

“You know,” Supreme Leader answered with a smirk, “I only ever ventured this deep inside your Destroyer during the final shipyard inspection.”

“I never once destroyed anything with my ship,” she said, stepping past. He hesitated only a second.

They shed everyone else at the many leading security posts, so Hora was left in an uncomfortable position of a sole silent witness. She made an attempt to study Rey’s space the way a stranger would, their short time away assisting in the endeavor. All unfinished projects the owner left scattered around were frozen in their places, everything from a hunk of metal to the very last screw in same exact order they were abandoned in. Absent dust elevated the flavor of neglect, and the overall busyness could probably be read as homey.

“You know what they say,” Supreme Leader drawled, “you can take a girl off a junk planet, but you cannot take junk-”

“Oh, stuff it, Lord Coruscanti Thimbles,” Rey parried. “Alright. A second, please.”

He bowed his head and made an inviting gesture, which prompted the woman to stalk off towards her office. Where she proceeded to lock herself in.

Um.

Hora’s least favorite place in the galaxy, surpassed only by being anywhere near Donta, was one-on-one beside Supreme Leader. Rey elevated the man’s heaviness, and in her absence it gathered over him again, like clouds chasing away sunlight. The goo in Hora’s brain was unpleasant to endure. Luckily, his preferred method of dealing with _Mercy_ ’s personnel was to ignore them. Hora observed as the intruder took several steps deeper into the room, gaze sliding from one item to another. He glimpsed under a sheet veiling the unfinished Droid Number Two from prying eyes, walked around a half-disassembled communication panel. There was a box of rudimentary manual tools near Rey’s main job, the burnt speeder. Supreme Leader kneeled beside it.

A muffled bang came from the office, loud enough to be heard through the wall.

Hora froze, as did Supreme Leader, eyes trained on the disturbance. After waiting and hearing nothing, he returned to the tools. Reached out… yanked the hand away as if burned. Black gloves came off, flew to land somewhere in the scrap piles. He reached again, picked up a double-sided key-

Another bang.

“Excuse me, sir!” Hora squeaked and darted across the floor, jumping over cable trails, happy to escape the heavy atmosphere even if a squad of infiltrating assassins awaited her inside.

Rey was doing… something… that looked like frantic hurling of random things into random directions. She was doing it with great vigor and force, no end to the process in sight. Hora dodged an embroidered baggy of herbs – amulet presented by some diplomat – and hissed: “Rey! What are you doing?!”

The woman stopped and straightened, blush high on her cheekbones and flyaway hairs caught on eyelashes. She blinked, uncomprehending, and tried to spit especially stubborn strands out of her face. Her explanation was simply, “It’s a mess in here!” She drew a circle to encompass abundant greenery, heaping shelves, colors, textures, paper, bowls of integrated circuits… High, near the ceiling, a cara-cara vine was heavy with buds, ready to bloom. 

Hora answered: “I mean, yes. But I kind of thought that was the point?” The uncertainty on Rey’s face troubled her. The woman looked almost ashamed of this intricate little world, of herself. Hora added: “It’s my favorite place here, to be honest.”

Rey mulled it over, studying a hand-made doll she happened to be holding. Nodded. “Mine, too.” Footing found, she sat the doll back in its place and patted the yarn head. As she went to open the door, an intimidating finger was pointed at Hora: “Don’t you dare leave, no matter what.”

“Got it.”

Supreme Leader managed to lose his cape somewhere between here and there. Quiet reverence infused his gaze as he went on one more discovery prowl, studying things from up close and freezing for a second every time he touched anything, waiting to be told off. Rey kept shooting Hora quick sideway glances, seeking support. Together the couple made for a very young, strangely flirty picture, energy free of hostility for once. The strain of recent days played its role; who wouldn’t wish for a simpler worry after such tension, a reprieve?

“Ka Yor.” The man stopped in front of one shelf, tapped his finger against a book spine. “You’ve read her. You quoted her.”

“Well. I had to understand where your dramatic flair came from.” Rey moved her shoulders, as if readjusting her own skin. “And you’ve watched Senator Amidala’s speeches.”

He swiveled and switched topics, nothing to say in defense: “Do you need me to buy you a new speeder, min gylif?”

A disbelieving chuckle. “Are you talking about my F-20 low runner?”

“I’m talking about the exploded garbage heap you dragged up here, which won’t be running anywhere. Especially not with the way you’ve rerouted the antigrav.”

“-He said, ignoring the necessity of decreasing the plasma flow near it.”

“Not an issue if a proper accelerator is installed.”

Hora felt a level of unease equal to that one time Doctor Rittrr and Shimmii were mock-fighting over the last remaining fruit slug in the mess hall and she couldn’t leave fast enough because her porridge was too hot to eat. Probably sensing this blazing beacon, Supreme Leader looked at her.

“Dismissed, Yeoman,” he said softly. “You may go.”

“Oh, no,” Rey, smile bright, approached to sling a hand over Hora’s shoulders. She smelled pleasantly of dry subtle perfume she’d been told to apply every morning. It was a warm friendly touch, not pinning or heavy. Hora’s unease had nothing to do with feeling trapped, anyway. The dissonance of governing figures acting like humans was more like it. “You may stay, my friend, and enjoy the marvelous spectacle that is a core boy explaining accelerators.”

Supreme Leader’s eyes slitted. “Is that what you call sane, educated people?”

Mirth wrinkled Rey’s nose in a unique way, like she was looking straight at bright light. “We also call you waterbags.”

“Lovely.”

“It’s because you are well-nourished, which makes you tall… s- supple,” the woman stumbled. She cleared her throat and let Hora go, evacuating to the living room.

“Supple.” Her husband’s head tilted.

“Accelerators?”

Tools and rugs were procured in abundance. A modest spread of food had been brought out by a helper droid. The good trusty couch Hora secretly considered her own stood empty of debris, inviting as ever. Pillows huffed, accepting the weight, when she plopped atop it – safe distance away from whatever was going down near the speeder. 

“I hope you understand I say these things in jest. I do realize that you have suffered,” Supreme Leader proclaimed. He was rolling his sleeves up neatly while Rey forgot she had a dress on altogether, skirt ruined with a black smear already.

The woman startled and whispered theatrically: “Oh, stars. I really did beat the fear of gods into you.”

Keeping one eye on the situation, Hora quickly put Hux’s recipe into housekeeping database, looked up Lili’s assignment details, and added several more bullet points to the yearly overview draft. It would be glorious to finally fill it-

***

When she came to, mouth dry and vision cloudy, the glow panels barely smoldered on sleeping mode. Her shoes were gone. Someone threw a thermal blanket over her, smooth to the touch, and relocated her tablet to the coffee table – its alert light was blinking red.

She jolted up wildly, pulse going from calm to chaotic, to assess the situation. Angular shadows occupied the room. Rey’s office was abandoned: darkness shriveled away from light invading through the gaping doorway. The food spread disappeared, only pitchers left to quench a midnight thirst. Speeder presented an even more spectacular state of disarray, parts and tools littering the tarp underneath. A wad of black fabric lay draped atop a chair.

Hora’s boots were to be found lined by the couch, and she stepped into them. Activated autofit hissed as they adjusted, but she was already thumbing the tablet’s display. Early morning. Considering the time of yesterday’s arrival… that nap easily took six whole hours.

On her way to the exit she checked the bedroom door – locked, just as expected. Cool air hit her forehead. Four praetorians were on duty outside. Twice as much as there usually were. Further down the gangway death trooper patrol moved steadily, reflections playing on sleek armor. 

Hora stuck her head back, shaken.

Supreme Leader had stayed the night.

***

Chill from the door was penetrating Hora’s jacket and soaking into her shoulder blades. She stood glued to it, shoulders high in attempt to cover the head, both palms splayed over the metal, and perspired quietly. Toxie had been sent to foray the unknown ten minutes ago. It should have been a two-minute task. It never came back.

“The route pack has to be approved and signed before we can go _anywhere_. Making another circle around this sector is not. An. Option. Bethlonians are freaking out! Probably charging their cannons as we speak,” General Madava was whisper-shouting right into Hora’s face. 

“Our Coruscanti agents have urgent, crucial information that needs to be addressed _immediately_ ,” Zla added. Her demeanor was much calmer – lacquered helmet helped – but imminent murder seeped through anyway.

Also present was a trembling stick of a nurse with sealed-cleared-resealed medical tray he clutched for dear life. “Doctor Rittrr sent me, and they said not to come back until I gave Lady Ren her shot.” The honor of rounding up this ambush-slash-delegation went to Shimmii. Their wide-set shimmering eyes conveyed the “I’m just saying” part of their statement non-verbally: “If we wait another half hour, we won’t have enough time to complete the makeup, and everyone is going to be asking if she’s sick all day long, which we cannot allow in our current state. So.”

Hora straitened her spine and spoke from the chest: “Alright! Everybody! Please!” They backed off – a great relief. “Wait in the sitting area. I’ll see what I can do.”

The little hall cleared quickly; Shimmii went, eyeing Zla’s helmet in amused yet passive judgment, and sing-songed a “nothing” at her biting, “What?!” General Madava stayed behind, however, eyes glinting mischievously. Her wrinkles were deepened by a sly smile as she stuck both thumbs in her shiny uniform belt.

“Yeoman,” she said. “Did you generation get sexual education included in the curriculum? Or?..”

Horrified right out of subordination order, Hora full on swatted at the woman: “General!” The joker only laughed and spun on her heel, head thrown back with wisps of white hair flying around it.

Access panel had an input window that glowed red. For the situation, the guilt rolling over Hora in waves was excessive. It’s not that she was nervous to find Rey naked in the middle of the floor under Supreme Leader. If her friend really wanted to keep everyone away, no one would be able to enter. It’s just that… Rey never had a peaceful day with her Ben – the one whose existence she needed to believe to stay sane, the one she pledged her life to twice now, – and she deserved it. Interrupting felt mean, almost a betrayal. The couple jabbed at each other so playfully yesterday, lighthearted like any unburdened newlyweds- 

“Stars, forgive me,” Hora sighed and pressed in the override code.

Doors closed behind her with a smooth mechanical whirr. For some associative reason, she expected inside to be dim. All glow panels blared, instead, to match Rey’s morning preference. Their bluish tint was so harsh and piercing, it almost dried eyes out. Hora typically had to endure while Rey showered and demanded the latest news to be shouted at her over sonics. Three steps concealed the full room view from where one entered. So after she received a faceful of light, Hora quickly turned left, to the wall, and called out:

“My lady?”

She realized in the caused pause that a conversation was interrupted: there had been an exchange prior, unnoticed because of its calm, everyday flow.

“Come, my friend,” Rey answered eventually. 

Ah. Toxie, bless its limited task list capacity, got roped into helping its creator get ready at the dressing table. Burnished tentacles held a mirror so Rey could see with more comfort. She was heavily focused on dry-brushing her wet hair, and it fell shiny across her shoulders once moisture-free. There was no steam, as the device worked based on absorbent material rather than heat. Half a head was already done. The barefoot woman had on her silken camisole and pants, overlaid by a matching robe. Everything about the picture screamed routine (a bit too aggressively), except for Supreme Leader’s reflection: it lay atop bed covers, visibly dressed-but-disheveled over Rey’s shoulder.

“General Madava,” Hora’s own voice grated on her ears, too loud, “is here with the route pack and Bethlonian cannons. Doctor Rittrr sent their most trembly nurse. Shimmii would like to remind you that it’ll all take away from makeup time.” She went as far as to raise her gaze to Supreme Leader’s feet in the mirror, but no further. Blood warmed Hora’s cheeks; she was genuinely uncomfortable. “Zla is also out there. With Coruscanti news. Very important.”

Her listeners sighed in perfect unison. Rey finished the last stroke, reluctantly, as if she wanted to delay inevitable parting. The brush clinked against tabletop as it landed.

Hora absolutely could not turn back and provide privacy she invaded here to break. She simply tried to move as little as possible. 

“It’s not a singular complete surrender after which all is lost,” Supreme Leader was saying, voice hoarse, to continue the haltered conversation. Rey stood and moved to sit on his side of the bed, the narrow sliver by his thigh. “It’s a series of constant small surrenders, a steady falling back. But I can stop. I won’t gain ground, but I won’t lose more ground, either.”

“This is your first step,” Rey said, something once told to Hora in jest. No one laughed, this time. The woman caressed Supreme Leader’s face, following the slash of his scar; tan fingers on pale. He put his hand high on her leg, where the wound had been. Rey glanced down at the thumb rubbing arcs over the sleek fabric of her pants. “You are a great healer, Ben,” she said, leaning in.

Hora counted screw-nuts on the ceiling until the soft sounds stopped. Black whirled past her, carrying warm smells of home and sleep, waning. “Zla, with me,” rang from the hall.

Until scurry and footsteps died out, Rey sat helpless atop the sheets near a rapidly filling out concave imprint, folded hands in a mask over her nose and mouth. Above the fingertips, her eyes were a tad too shiny, brows distorted. Hora made a face: _are you alright?_ Rey shook her head sharply, just once, then shouted: “Shimmii, I’m all yours!”

***

“Do I have to worry,” General Madava asked calmly, “about you losing focus?”

“No, Ignessa,” Lady Ren answered. “Who do you take me for?”

***

Being Rey’s shadow made it so that Hora shamelessly forgot the intricacies of everyday life on a ship. Weight limit on personal belongings, personal water tariffs (Rey preferred sonics and had invited Hora to spend hers in addition to the ones already provided, but not to follow the leader’s example seemed preposterous). Meal tags. Lady Ren’s team could not be confined to standardized time windows, so they were fed separately – and they were fed, one way or another, always. That led a substantial amount of unused cafeteria tickets to accumulate on a rarely used crew chip in Hora’s drawer. An amount that she would now happily transfer to Lili!

Anything additional soon enough found its way to barter market flourishing onboard of any vessel. Though _Mercy_ ’s supply for all was decent, solid even, more luxurious or pleasurable items had to be sought out and exchanged. Tags would go for bonus dessert, minor cosmetics, smoking paraphernalia-

Something slipped out when Hora yanked her bracelet from the drawer. It met the floor with a soft puff of air, and she instantly recognized the white envelope as the one Hux had asked her to pass along all those cycles ago – sure felt like an eternity.

She fulfilled her promise, late as it may have been.

“Oh, Armitage,” Rey sighed when the upturned package spat out a pair of dog tags on her palm. Polished, they hid twinkles in their corners. Her thumb swiped over the name her lips spoke, and after this somber moment she turned and lowered the chain into a glass bowl brimming with mementoes on one of her office shelves.

Thus, Armitage Hux, former general of First Order, joined the motley background of Lady Ren. Became a part of its weave: integral… and indiscernible among others.

***

The entire botany bay was a marvel, a maze of changing temperatures and aromas floating on moisture-rich air. But Hora’s favorite zone was the arboretum. Where other parts of the complex had an underlining goal of efficiency the design reflected, arboretum served as a mostly decorative reservation. The plankton ponds, zero gravity chambers of floating water globes, were inaccessible to public; agricultural sector proved hard to stroll around – colorful towers of multi-level planters shot towards the ceiling and huddled close, forming a wild forest. But tapered paths weaved through trees and bushes of arboretum, interrupted here and there by a simple bench. There was even a transparisteel viewport installed over it, not as frivolous as many leisure yachts were equipped with, but nonetheless impressive.

Plants didn’t receive life from the same lamps _Mercy_ ’s crew and passengers did. When day illumination shut off on public decks, the true source could be seen: thick purple rays turned everything into an undiscovered planet. They vibrated unobtrusively. Hora, never before allowed to develop a bond with nature, loved this hidden garden. Most of the time, she sat around planning a more efficient yearly overview ambush. Recently, she began gathering low-hanging sataccaa pods to make flour for Rey’s cakes. She also brought her still wary porg along for these excursions.

That’s where Taj Lynn found her. 

The analytic stepped out from behind a short but lavish tree, moved a juicy leaf aside. The purple suited her perfectly: she looked like a guardian spirit from one of Rey’s stories, protector of a grove. Her shiny braids were arranged into a crown around her head, and Shimmii’s gift adorned its center instead of a jewel. Hora returned to plucking, pleased at the spooked porg and his defensive tableau of sharp teeth. She wasn’t hurt, really… she just never estimated the extent of narrow-mindedness at play. She sort of expected more.

“Hello,” Taj said gingerly.

“Officer.”

It was too serene here, with no wind to rustle the leaves.

“Hora… I’m sorry.” The woman came closer, wringing her hands. She had a rich, pleasant voice, the kind that touched the back of Hora’s neck. “I shouldn’t have been so mean to Lili. It’s not my place. It’s just that- I know it’s not an excuse, but I had finally gathered enough courage to ask you out, and. I guess I was simply startled and upset and didn’t manage to deal with it in appropriate, timely manner. I’m sorry.” Taj was speaking too fast, unusual for her.

One of the soft brown pods snapped in two from how hard it was gripped. Light spicy scent burst in the air. “Ask me out? Out where?”

“I don’t know, to the cantina for dinner? Or maybe even here, all the colors are lovely.”

Hora abandoned her harvest and let the porg climb her shoulder, little claws prickling. She faced its namesake, heart booming in her ears. “But- Why?”

“Well, I’ve been told that’s how you go about starting a relationship.” Taj tucked her chin in – a blushing gesture here, where actual color would have been invisible. “Which I was interested in. Because I like you. Don’t worry about it, it doesn’t matter now.” She waved the words away like an unpleasant insect. “I didn’t know you had your eye on someone else the whole time. Explains why you were so dense.”

“Lili? She’s like my sister. I’m dense because I’ve been brainwashed my whole life.”

“Oh.”

So, Taj was sincere from the start. Rey was going to be so smug about this. That woman, always right. Unbearable.

…No one had ever liked Hora before. Not- not earnestly, respectfully. Not in this way. The being rude part was familiar, but- It wasn’t a fair comparison. It was incomparable. Because the apology part never followed. Or wanting to help. Neither did the smiling, or batting eyelashes. 

“I really thought I was good at detecting this sort of thing,” she whispered and was awarded with a chuckle: “It’s easier when it has to do with someone else, not you personally.”

They drifted off, each in their own bubble of realizations. Taj fondled another leaf from the same tree, running the edge slowly between her slim fingers with neat light-pink fingernails. Her eyes twinkled in the garden shade, purple sparkles on the ends of eyelashes. Hora could see much of the dislike she harbored being caused by the woman’s physical appeal: she felt attracted to someone who, she decided, despised her, and wanted to protect herself. 

The unsettled porg chirped at them.

“I want to say yes, now,” Hora rushed to say. “But I’m not sure if it’s because I like you, or because you like me and that’s something new and exciting-”

“Um.” Taj’s demeanor completely changed. “You- you shouldn’t worry about it. I actually volunteered to come here on different business. I just wanted to apologize first.” She bit her lip, visibly nervous, and tagged something rectangular from behind her back. “Hora…”

“What’s that?” 

(She knew exactly what it was. Less slim than working tablets, with a scanner on one side and a self-destruction patch attached. A permanent database access point. Like for a database of records, for example.)

Her whole being stopped.

“You know what it is.” Taj outstretched the device into emptiness between them: easy for Hora to take. She didn’t rush her, however. “Do you want me to give you some privacy?”

“No! No. You should- stay.” Hora gulped. She was afraid to be alone. Snatching the port closer, she unlocked the screen. Taj’s eyes held hers – not hostage, but safe – till the very last moment until she lowered them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thank you for keeping up with this story and supporting it! I appreciate it a lot!**


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